Lola
by one four two nine seven eight
Summary: *Final chapter uploaded. 'Tis a sad day for us all. A fifth-year Ravenclaw catches the eye of everyone's golden boy; she would rather be with a certain Slytherin Seeker - and the Slytherin is eyeing Potter with more than just malevolance.
1. Our Story Begins.

I said I would never write my own character into Hogwarts. I lied.

@-'-,-'-,--

- Book One - Lola - 

"Our Story Begins"

Maurice was tall, lanky but muscular. Expressive brown eyes with long lashes and a handsome face he was blessed with; his bright smile was rare but could light up any room. His hair was dark, like his eyes, and fell in a fringe of curls over his forehead; his ears and the back of his neck were tickled by the curls as well. 

Lola had always wanted to look like Maurice when she was young, as her hair had hung in curls of golden red. But as time passed, her curls darkened to the deep sable of her brother's and hung to her shoulders. Her eyes, however, had always matched the expressive nature of Maurice's, as had her rare smile. She was tall and willowy, like her brother, while still barely holding the feminine curves she deserved.

Maurice had been a seventh year when Lola had arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry her first year. She had been thrilled that the Sorting Hat had chosen her to be in the house of Ravenclaw with him; she was a bookworm by every definition and an expert in any subject. As she had approached the Hat with the rest of her class, a strange twinge of panic had lodged itself in her stomach when she thought of her sisters, all of whom were in the compassionate house of Hufflepuff. She had joined Maurice that evening at the Ravenclaw table with a pride swelling within her.

Lola had four sisters: Elise, who was driven by a love of love; Maria, who was pretty and obsessed with her looks; Deirdre, who was athletic and a natural Quidditch Chaser; and Bobbie, the youngest, who adored creatures of many sorts. The sisters all had blue eyes and golden red hair as Lola had had when she was a small child. She had never been close to any of them because of her love of books; she and Maurice spent much of their time together discussing various texts and authors.

At Hogwarts and at home, Lola was a loner. She much preferred the company of a novel than another person, and, therefore, while on good terms with the girls of her dormitory, she did not have many friends. But she was happy and spent her holidays at home with Maurice, who worked at Flourish & Blotts bookshop in Diagon Alley. He brought Lola new books whenever he saw her, and by her fourth year her room was filled with them. Mostly her books were texts of charms and spells, but her favorites were the Muggle novels Maurice brought her from London, full of stereotypical ideas of magic and sorcery. 

Her mother did not approve of the Muggle books because of their negative attitudes toward witches, but her father let Lola keep them. Timothy Rosen was like Lola and Maurice; dark curls fell over equally dark eyes and a quiet, introverted nature resided behind them. His wife, Nolan, however, was more like the sisters: light hair and eyes and a skillful conversationalist, always in the height of fashion. Lola supposed what was said was true; opposites did attract, especially in the case of her parents. 

The Rosen household had a plethora of beasts. Bobbie, who was just a first year at Hogwarts this year, often fell in love with the jeweled eyes in shops in the Alley, and another animal was brought home. Presently underfoot were three owls belonging to the elder three sisters, a cat and two kittens, and a dog formerly belonging to Maurice. The owls, a barn, a tawny, and a screech, lived mostly in the girls' rooms; Lilianne belonged to Elise, Puck to Maria, and Oliver to Deirdre. The cat was charcoal grey with emerald eyes and was called Prima Donna, and the calico kittens were called Louise and Thomas. The dog was a beautiful golden creature with amber eyes, called Remus or Dog by the family but Amadeus by Maurice and Lola. Since Maurice had left home, Lola had inherited the dog, and Amadeus lived in her room.

During the school year, Lola spent her free hours buried in books, and her adventures stemmed from the texts while all around her excitement blossomed like wildflowers. In her first year, she had been unaware of the dangers of the escaped prisoner of Azkaban save for overhearing her parents speak of the matter after supper one evening. In her second year, she had not attended the Triwizard Tournament or the Yule Ball; though attending the Ball had been reserved for those in their fourth year and above anyway. In her third and fourth years, similarly rumored events took place and she was just as unconcerned about them. She rarely witnessed Quidditch matches unless Deidre forced her into the stands, and at mealtimes she ate quickly before returning to the library to read.

In was only in her fifth year that she finally pulled herself from her volumes, and that is where our story begins.


	2. Ten Points from Ravenclaw!

@-'-,-'-,--

"Ten Points From Ravenclaw!"

The platform was buzzing with witches and wizards as the five Rosen daughters and their trolleys made their way to the train. The mother was fussing over Bobbie's trunks and cat case, in which the kitten Thomas mewled pitifully. Bobbie murmured reassurances through the crossed bars of the cage, telling the animal that as soon as they were on the train he would be let out to breathe again. Deirdre made sure her Quidditch robes and broomstick had been packed as Maria powdered her nose, and Elise thumbed through the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_. 

Lola stood slightly apart, one hand clutching her newest book (_A Day in the Life: A History of Polyjuice Potions_) as she waited for her turn to say goodbye to her mother. Her dark gaze drifted through the crowds absently. Nearby, a set of redheads she recognized as the Weasleys were talking with a dark-haired boy who wore glasses. She watched the family finally say goodbye to the redheads and Harry, who noticed her watching them with an arrogant, nonplussed look on his face. She turned back to her own family, her cheeks blushing furiously.

Bobbie had finally gotten tired of her mother's fussing and sent her away. Now the mother reminded the other girls of their manners before turning at last to Lola.

"Don't spend the year with your nose down a book again, Lola," she said; then she brightened as she added, "And if you have any problems, just go to your father - he'll be able to straighten things out." Lola nodded and obliged her mother in a warm hug before being herded into a compartment with her sisters.

Steam billowed from the scarlet engine at the front of the train, and it pulled away from the platform. As soon as the mother was out of sight, Elise made for her seventh year friends at the front of the train. Maria did the same, and Deirdre was taken by her Quidditch team, leaving Bobbie and Lola alone in their compartment.

The youngest Rosen daughter peered anxiously out of the window, the kitten Thomas purring in her lap. Lola curled up in her seat, opening her book; but before she began to read Bobbie spoke.

"Lola," she said, "what if they don't like me?" Lola's eyes smiled while her lips did not, and she shook her head.

"They'll love you." Bobbie looked somewhat relieved, but continued to express her worry.

"What if the Sorting Hat puts me in Slytherin?" she asked breathlessly. "What if I'm terrible at Charms or Herbology -- " She blanched severely; "What if I fail Potions, Lola? If Snape doesn't like me?"

"Snape doesn't like anyone," Lola said knowingly, putting aside her book. "And if you need help with any of your lessons you happen to have four eligible tutors." She considered her sisters a moment before adding, "Well, one, anyway." The worry ebbed away from the younger girl's face. "You'll do just - "

The door of the compartment burst open and a lanky seventh year with brilliantly red hair tumbled inside, followed by the dark-haired boy from the platform and a girl with very thick brown hair. Lola glanced at Bobbie, who was looking awed but pale. The redhead grinned at the girls and slowed up a bit, causing the other two to trip over his heels.

"Oi," he said, glaring at the other two, "watch it." 

"Hello," said the girl with brown hair. "We're sorry, we were just looking for an empty car - "

"Apparently they're all filled," interrupted the redhead, flinging his arm carelessly around the girl's shoulders. "D'you mind if we join you in here?" Bobbie glanced, wide-eyed, at Lola, who looked at the redhead and waved a hand to the empty seats around them.

"Not at all." At this, the girl thanked them and made her way to the opposite end of the car, where she took a seat. The two boys followed; the one with dark hair glanced over his shoulder at Lola, who had opened her book again to the chagrin of her sister.

Bobbie scrambled into the seat beside Lola, tugging at her sleeve. Thomas murmured mutinously under his whiskers at her, having been upended as the girl flung herself to her sister's side, and settled back into the seat.

"You never told me you knew _Harry Potter_," she hissed.

"I don't," Lola said, not taking her eyes from the book. Bobbie was insistent and snatched the thing from her hands.

"Apparently you do." She pointed to the seventh years. "_They_ seem to think you do, don't they?" Lola, annoyed, took back her book, flipping through the pages to find her chapter.

"Did they use my name?" she said, irritable and uninterested. "No, they didn't. They don't know me, Bobbie - so leave it." As Bobbie moved back into her seat, Lola added, "And anyway, Harry Potter is not the world to everyone. You'll see; there are some people who would rather _not _worship the ground he walks on."

"You're the only one _I've_ met," Bobbie mumbled, attending to Thomas' wounded ego. Lola immersed herself in her book, only pausing to pull a face at the sister.

After a long moment of hushed whispers from Harry Potter and his friends, the compartment doors again opened and another trio of seventh years entered. Bobbie shrank into her seat, paling even further and clutching Thomas, who complained loudly. Lola glanced at them and smiled at her sister.

"I present you with a prime example that not everyone likes Harry Potter." 

Two of the seventh years were tall and burly, with permanent scowls on their ugly faces and clenched fists at their sides. Dressed in identical robes trimmed with the green of the Dark house, the pair flanked a slender boy with platinum hair, pale eyes, and sharp features. Bobbie's eyes were fixed on this boy as he swept through the car, glancing at them with a skeptically raised eyebrow, and stopped at the seats occupied by Harry and his two.

"Watch this," Lola muttered enthusiastically, setting aside her book, "it'll be good."

"Ah," said the platinum blond jovially, "I see that the Weasleys still can't afford proper robes for their children, even when there are only two of them at school." 

The redhead's ears burned red as he retorted, "I see your parents still think that wealth is more important than manners." The blond chuckled, his pale eyes casting pitying glances at the other two.

"Malfoy, get lost," said the girl wearily.

"No," said the blond decidedly after a short pause. "I don't suppose I will." His eyes flicked to Harry, who was looking as irritated as the girl at this point. "I think that I'll leave that to Potter, here. I hear his Muggle family wouldn't be too opposed to seeing him gone."

Lola glanced at Bobbie, who was watching the scene with a grim fascination.

"Do they always behave like this," she murmured, blue eyes fixed on Harry.

"Usually," said Lola, "they're worse."

"So tell me," Harry piped up, "Malfoy, has Voldemort accepted your application yet? Or, wait - your daddy has ensured you a place as a Death Eater, hasn't he? Well, Pansy will be most pleased about that, won't she ... " Despite his light manner of speaking, Harry's eyes shone dangerously, his expression rigid. The blond's gaze hardened, and the two burly boys on either side of him readied for a fight, cracking their knuckles and growling menacingly.

Bobbie squeaked, covering her face with her hands, and Lola leaned forward, shocked by this particular exchange. In all the times she had seen these boys quarrel, she had never heard reference to the reputation of the Malfoy name and its connection to the Dark Lord, especially from Harry, who usually opted to keep his peace during such exchanges while the redhead did the arguing.

Having heard Bobbie's appalled squeal, the blond took a step back.

"Watch yourself, Potter," he purred coldly, "or you may find yourself in a place where you _aren't _favored." Turning on his heel, he swept out of the car again with his minions close behind.

Lola looked at Bobbie, who still hugged Thomas to her urgently. The kitten squirmed, mewling to be allowed his freedom, and Bobbie let out a long breath.

"Is it always as bad as that?" She nodded, and Bobbie blanched further. "Oh, dear."

"Just do your best to keep out of it and you'll be fine." 

"But what if I _am _in the middle of it and it's _not _fine?" 

Lola paused, considering the trio across the car for a moment, and said simply, "Then you go to Dad."

@-'-,-'-,--

In the Great Hall, second through seventh year students filled four long tables, and the staff of professors filled a smaller table at the front of the Hall. Each of the four long tables held a different house, and while Lola sat among the girls in her dormitory, she was not a part of their laughter and conversation. Her book open on the table before her, she was gazing around the room for familiar faces.

At the farthest table, her Hufflepuff sisters sat: Elise with several of the more handsome boys, Maria with a few pretty girls who powdered their noses, and Deirdre with her beloved Quidditch team. The next table, filled with Gryffindors, held fewer recognizable faces; Harry Potter with the redhead and girl, and Dennis Creevey with his brother Colin were the only sets of people she could identify. At her own table there were several, the girls in her dormitory and several of the fifth year boys who shared her classes. The Slytherin table next to her own Ravenclaw held the fewest number of recognizable faces. All scowling and tossing careless insults at one another, the Slytherins stood out against the gentler houses. At one end of the table, the platinum blond sat with his burly bodyguards, silent and bored.

The doors of the Hall opened, and lead by Professor McGonagall of Transfiguration lessons the first years came into the room, in awe of the bewitched ceiling and sea of candles floating in midair. Bobbie was walking with a small boy who had mousy brown hair. Lola guessed this boy was a Creevey as he waved enthusiastically to Dennis and Colin at the Gryffindor table.

Taking up the Hat, Professor McGonagall began to call out names, and the respective students came forward and tried on the Hat. Lola listened for familiar names, but save for Bobbie and her mousy friend (who, she soon discovered, was indeed a Creevey by the name of William), she heard none. She wondered what she had been doing with herself that she really had so very little friends.

Professor Dumbledore, with his long silver beard shining in the candlelight, got to his feet as the last of the first years took their seats. Every student looked at him with respect and expectancy as he looked back at them, a small smile on his face.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," he said kindly. "Now that you're all here and, I assume, hungry, I would like to begin this year by saying, simply, enjoy!"

Every plate in the Hall filled with steaming food, and from the Hufflepuff table, Bobbie, with several others from various points around the room, squealed with delight. Setting aside her book, Lola ate heartily, absorbing the conversation around her but not truly paying attention. 

She was watching the staff table, where Dumbledore and McGonagall were engaged in friendly conversation, the groundskeeper Hagrid was enjoying whatever filled his goblet, and Snape sneered down at the students as he picked at his food. Discussing something with the Herbology professor Sprout, a thin professor with dark, curly hair noticed Lola's absent gaze and waved, smiling fondly. She waved back and turned to her meal.

After supper, the prefects of each house lead their new first years up to the common rooms, and Lola slipped off to the library. The spacious rooms filled with shelf upon shelf of books and marble busts were relatively empty, as they often were on the first night back from holidays. Returning a forced smile to the librarian Madam Pince, Lola set off for a small corner table where she could read without being noticed.

The table, situated between shelves of Magical Creatures and Potions, was perfect for one person to spread a generous amount of texts, parchment, quills, and ink across its beaten surface. Tonight, however, Lola merely lay her text out before her and absorbed the words as quickly as she could. It was not until Madam Pince came over and announced the closing of the library that she left with a fond look back at the may volumes yet unread.

@-'-,-'-,--

Lola made her way through the corridors from her Charms lesson, a bag of books slung over one shoulder and several more hugged in her arms. The girls in her dormitory often told her she looked like a first year, wandering around the castle with so many books, but Lola didn't care what they thought. If carrying books she wanted to read made her look like a first year, it was a risk she was willing to take. After all, she didn't have much of a reputation to uphold at Hogwarts, anyway.

Sweeping past seventh years coming from their Herbology lesson in the greenhouses outside, Lola kept her gaze on the ground and ignored them completely, her mind focusing on reaching her next class, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Though she was early, she wanted to speak with her professor about several things, and - 

Turning a corner, she cannoned into someone; her bag split and books flew across the cold stone floor. Immediately, Lola began to gather her things, grasping her wand and muttering a spell to mend her bag. The seventh year she had run into helped to pick up the books, and she looked up.

"Thanks," she said, finding herself locked in the silver gaze of the blond from the train. He handed her a book wordlessly and swept off down the corridor. Shaking off the cold feeling running through her veins, Lola slung her repaired bag over her shoulder and clutched her books closer to her.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was a dungeon decorated with the large white skeleton of a Norwegian Ridgeback dragon, its wings stretched wide for flight, shelves full of dusty books and skulls of various beasts, and charts and lists of curses and hexes on the grim stone walls. The room was set in a semicircle, with a lowered space in the middle of the room for the professor, a desk nearby covered in papers. Students' desks were arranged in semicircles facing the main floor, each row a step up from the last.

It took a moment for Lola's eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, and she made her way to the front row of desks partly blinded until then. She stacked the books from her arms on a desk, dropping her bag onto the floor; she crossed the main floor and stopped in front of the professor's desk.

Seated at the desk was the thin professor who had been speaking with Professor Sprout at the feast last night. He was bent over a roll of parchment, adding small notes here and there with a pitifully thin quill, his dark curls falling into his eyes so that he had to brush them away every few minutes.

"Hey, Dad," Lola said grimly, taking a seat on a nearby desk. The professor stopped writing and looked at her, his eyes smiling though his lips did not.

"Good afternoon," he said. "How was your morning lesson?"

"It went well," she told him, swinging her feet. "Have you gotten a letter from Maurice today?" 

Timothy Rosen smiled broadly, taking from the piles of parchment on the desk a particularly messy roll with ragged edges.

"Just before class this morning," he said, laying the roll aside absently. "It was brought to me by Lorenze, who then flew off again with another letter still tied to his leg. It leads me to believe that he has written to you, also." 

As if on cue, a large snowy owl came through the window near the vaulted ceiling and landed gracefully on Lola's shoulder. It was holding a book-sized parcel wrapped in brown paper in its beak. Lola stroked its feathers as she untied the parchment on its leg and accepted the parcel. The owl took off lightly and disappeared through the window as she unrolled it.

Feeling her father's eyes on her, Lola rolled the letter back up and tucked it into her robes.

"I'll read it later." 

"So long as you don't disturb my lesson," said Rosen solemnly, returning to his own roll of parchment. "Now, if you don't mind ... I have a few more notes to make before class begins."

Lola nodded and slipped out of the room with Maurice's letter. Once in the deserted corridor, she unrolled it and read his spider-webbed scrawl.

__

Lola - 

How is your first day of classes going as a fifth year? It seems to me than in my fifth year I was able to see the youngest Seeker in over a century play his first match, see the same boy plot against Professor Snape, and defeat the Dark Lord ... but seeing that (if my calculations are correct) that same boy is still at Hogwarts, this year might not prove so very boring for you as my years before Harry Potter were. Then again, knowing your passion for the written word, you might be too caught up in the newest adventure I've sent you to notice much of anything. But maybe (dare I say it) you may even find yourself in an adventure of your own ... 

Life in London is marvelous, as always. Flourish and Blotts, though still_ recovering from Lockhart's disappearance from our world of text, is thriving and is paying better than ever - especially now that I've been promoted to manager! But I would remain stock boy forever if it meant being able to send you books every time the sun rises. This volume in particular I think you'll enjoy, and if you don't, you can always use it to prop up the short leg of your cauldron in Potions. Just kidding - Snape would throw a fit if you tried, I'm sure (Ten points from Ravenclaw!)._

I'm sending a letter to Dad when I send yours, and I expect that he will give me all of the news from Hogwarts and The Sisters, which means that you'll have to send me an owl telling me all of the things he'll "accidentally" forget to mention. Tell me how Bobbie's adjusting to life at school, how Amadeus is doing, and what cute boys are in your classes. Until I see you again, enjoy your book and study hard.

Love,

Maurice

Tucking the parchment into her robes, Lola unwrapped the parcel to find a leather-bound copy of the Muggle novel _The Wind in the Willows_. Delighted to have something new to read, she tucked it, too, into her robes and hurried back into the dungeon classroom, which was by this time mostly filled with fifth years from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. She took her seat beside Dennis Creevey, who appeared elated to be back at school.

"Colin and I took William shopping for school this year," he said, tapping his quill against the desktop. "He's so excited to be here this year, what with it being Harry's last year and all ... "

Lola listened to him bubble excitedly about William and Diagon Alley and Harry Potter, and she wondered if she and Draco Malfoy were alone in being distinctly opposed to the mania Potter had caused at Hogwarts.


	3. It's an Escape From the World.

@-'-,-'--

"It's an Escape From the World."

The Quidditch season started at the end of September. It was Hufflepuff versus Slytherin, and despite Deirdre's begging that Lola attend the matches in previous years, she didn't say a word to her this year. 

After lunch one day, Lola caught up with Bobbie, who had been walking with William Creevey. Once she had advised Bobbie on a difficult Transfiguration lesson, Lola approached the subject of Quidditch bluntly.

"So, are you going to the match?" she asked, and Bobbie nodded vigorously.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" she said. "I know I've seen the World Cup, but that was over in ten minutes last year - and I want to see Hufflepuff beat Slytherin." She blushed pink and added, "And anyway, William's invited me to sit with him."

"Ah," said Lola, "I see. Well, I'll catch up with you later. Have fun in Potions this afternoon." Bobbie pulled a disgusted face and walked off with the girls in her dormitory, who promptly teased her for having been invited to the match by William Creevey.

When the day of the match came around, Lola tucked her newest book from Maurice (_Most Potente Potions, Volume II_, which was housed in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library with its prequel, _Most Potente Potions_; Lola had received the first volume as a gift from Maurice the previous Christmas) into her robes and set off for the pitch.

The stands were already packed with students wearing their house colors. Lola wrapped her gold-and-blue scarf more snugly around her neck and took a seat in the upper corner of a box. Mostly the box was filled with Ravenclaw, but the opposite end was filled with the silver and green of Slytherins. As the players took a warm-up lap on their brooms, Lola considered the other students in the box.

Below her several rows, fifth year boys hollered to their friend, a Hufflepuff playing Keeper. In the front of the box, first years giggled and shouted insults to the Slytherins, who in turn pulled faces at them, scaring the first years out of their wits. The Slytherins in the stands were quite collected for the most part, save a huddle of second year girls who attempted to flirt with a couple of sixth years in the row above them.

Lola's attention drifted to the players, who circled the field looking determined. She studied their faces, looking for someone she recognized besides Deirdre; Deirdre presently was conversing with the Hufflepuff Seeker, a skinny fourth year, while hovering high above the stands. Lola studied the Slytherins, trying to decide if she would be falsely cheering for the Hufflepuffs if she knew anyone on the opposing team.

Hovering over the Slytherin goal posts, a lanky boy with platinum hair had his arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed the opposing team. His eyes drifted lazily over the stands, and when he caught sight of Harry Potter in the box next to Lola's, his lip curled into a sneer which, Lola thought, did not suite his handsome face.

Madam Hooch, the flying coach and referee, strode onto the pitch with a large and beaten wooden trunk. The players came into a circle around her, and fourteen Slytherin eyes narrowed in cruel glares at the Hufflepuffs. The trunk was opened by Madam Hooch, and the two Bludgers shot off, the Golden Snitch fluttering away in a blur of glistening wings; she took up the Quaffle in one hand, poked a small golden whistle between her lips, and tossed the red ball toward the heavens as the shrill sound of her whistle pierced the air.

A Gryffindor whose voice Lola didn't recognize was commentating, and Madam Hooch swung onto her broom to better see the game. The players swooped and dove too quickly for Lola to focus on any one person as Bludgers and Quaffle shot through the air; her eyes came to rest on the blond Seeker, who still hovered lazily over the goal posts. His silver eyes swept over the pitch, searching in silence for the Snitch while following the Bludgers closely so as to avoid being upturned by one.

And then, as though a Filibuster Firework had gone off underneath him, the Seeker shot off through the air, narrowly missing a Beater's club as it came down on a Bludger. His hand stretched out before him, and suddenly he went into a steep dive; he turned over in a flip, coming to land sprawled on his back on the ground. He was on his feet in a moment, his fist closed over the Snitch as the Slytherins at the opposite end of the box erupted in applause and cheers; the commentator voiced his disapproval and was silenced by an angry Professor McGonagall moments later.

Disappointed students trickled out of the stands while ecstatic Slytherins began shooting green and silver sparks from the tips of their wands and cheering loudly. The Slytherin team engulfed their Seeker while Hufflepuffs consoled theirs, trudging off the field with brooms slung over their shoulders. 

Lola paused a moment in her seat, wondering with a glance at her watch if coming down to see the match had even been worth the effort; but as she made her way to the steps at the front of the box, she caught sight of the blond Slytherin Seeker, his hair tousled from his play and from his teammates, and very suddenly she was glad she had decided to extract herself from her books.

@-'-,-'--

It was Halloween, and delightfully fat, wet snowflakes were falling lazily from the overcast skies. At the feast, Lola continually found herself sighing toward the bewitched ceiling; while snow fell outside, she was forced to listen to the chatter of the girls in her dormitory.

"It was a tragedy seeing Ravenclaw lose to _Hufflepuff_," sniffed one of the girls as she poked at her meal with a fork. There had been a match that afternoon, and much to the chagrin of Ravenclaw, they had lost after a very long and close struggle. "As though those softies had some sort of miracle intelligence hit them just before the game ... "

The girl beside her nodded knowingly, adding, "I'd wager they found out our strategies somehow. How else would they have been able to block the shot made by our Sean?" 

Lola looked on in disgust as the girls batted their eyelashes adoringly down the length of the table to the Ravenclaw Chaser called Sean. The way they giggled when he glanced at them with much the same exasperated expression Lola had on presently reminded her of her sisters; she glanced over to the Hufflepuff table where, as was expected, Maria and Elise giggled with their friends.

Lola's gaze drifted to the Gryffindor table. The Creeveys appeared dreadfully excited about something, which Lola took to be no surprise, and Dennis' eye caught hers; he smiled shyly, and she tossed a small wave back, looking away in a hurry. Harry Potter sat with his redheaded friend and the girl with brown hair, but was also seated amongst his Quidditch team. Lola didn't recognize any of them and was surprised to see Harry glance in her direction. He looked away quickly, a grin creasing onto his face as the redhead finished an anecdote, and Lola's attention drifted once more.

She was slightly surprised when her gaze fell almost automatically on the blond Slytherin Seeker, whose hair was once again slicked back perfectly and whose sneer was directed across the Hall to Harry Potter as he decidedly ignored his meal. 

Glancing at her own plate, only half empty, Lola got to her feet and made a hasty excuse to her girls, who did not seem eager to have her stay. 

Through the corridors she nearly flew in an effort to be outside in the snow. She came out of the castle at a small door facing the Quidditch pitch, now blanketed in snow, and stood for a moment, her robes clinging to the wet whiteness. Too late, now, to retrieve her cloak, she worried about the temperature, but even as a cold breeze whipped through her hair, she barely felt any cooler than she had been in the Great Hall. 

The night was silent as she picked up her robes and danced through the snow on light toes. Lola breathed in deeply, the frigid air freezing her nose, her throat, her lungs. She could not breathe in deeply enough, and when she exhaled, a happy cloud drifted toward the heavens as it faded. 

The roofs were coated in snow, every tree branch sparkled, and the lake, as she approached it now, glistened with snowflakes, which melted upon contact to form a thick slush of ice and water. Snow was sticking in her hair and lashes and clung to her robes in perfectly geometric shapes. She made her way closer to the lake, which shone purple under the velvet sky.

And then, something caught her eye. On the shore of the lake to her right, an armchair had been magicked from the snow, and a familiar blond slouched in it as he gazed across the lake, his pale eyes silver and pensive.

As Lola approached, he saw her dark hair tousled by the wind through the corner of his eye, and chuckled, "Ah, Potter, come to - " He had turned upon speaking, but seeing her standing there in the snow, his eyes darkened.

"You're the girl from the train," he said after a long pause. "Professor Rosen's daughter."

She nodded, realizing suddenly that he was wearing his cloak and scarf and gloves, while she only had her robes; the wind whipped through to her very bones at that moment, and she shivered. His eyes trailed up and down her figure, the harsh gaze softening slightly. When his gaze met hers again, however, they hardened.

"What are you doing out," he said quietly, his voice like steel, "on a cold night like this ... " His attention returned to the lake, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "In just your robes?" 

Words rushed through her mind; the defeated Quidditch team, the giggling girls, Harry's proud grin, Dennis' shy smile, a lack of recent letters from Maurice; but she mentioned none of these things or her need to escape from them.

"The snow," she said simply, surprised at the volume of her voice against the silence of the snow. The blond raised a critical eyebrow without looking round at her. "I wanted to be in the snow because ... " She desperately wanted to tell him every reason she loved the snow so much, from the snowball fights she and Maurice always shared at Christmas to the subtle magic it held for her, but only said, "Because it's an escape from the world."

The blond, though remaining quite silent, seemed impressed. Lola shrugged, defeated, and turned back for the castle. As she trudged away from the lake, holding her robes up, she glanced back at the blond as the wind tossed its hair from its slicked perfection, and she sighed heavily into the snow.

@-'-,-'--

It had continued to snow through the night, and when Lola woke the next morning, she could no longer make out her path from the side door of the castle to the lake. Likewise, the snow armchair formerly occupied by the blond Slytherin had been demolished, and to anyone who had not seen it, it had not existed.

The girls in her dormitory bustled about, dressing in their nicer school robes; when Lola asked the reason for this, they looked at her as though she had sprouted an extra head overnight.

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend, Lola," one girl supplied after the others had disappeared into the bathroom, giggling. "And Sean has asked Clara if she would have a Butterbeer with him - we're all so very excited for her!"

"But ... why are the rest of you dressing up when Clara is the one who's going with Sean?"

The girl looked disgusted and said impatiently, "Well, we want to make a good showing in case any of his friends are hanging about, don't we?" With this, she huffed out her breath and joined the other girls in the bathroom. 

Lola dressed in her usual school robes, pulled a random book from her trunk, and left the dormitory in silence. In the common room, several students gathered around the fire at the center of the room, one of which Lola recognized as Clara's Sean. His friends were teasing him about it, and he appeared rather embarrassed about the whole thing.

"It wasn't even as though I asked her," he was saying helplessly as she slipped out of the room. "She's practically forcing me to go - d'you really think I'd ask _her _to a Butterbeer on my own?"

Lola chuckled to herself as she made her way through the corridors. She rarely went to Hogsmeade; in fact, the two times she had gone had been by force, when Deirdre wanted her to visit Honeydukes and when Elise had used her as a ploy to attract a new boy. Neither experience had been very agreeable with Lola, and she therefore avoided Hogsmeade for all it was worth.

As she passed the Great Hall on her way to the library, a familiar trio appeared from a side corridor, laughing and discussing something in rather low tones.

"Oi, Harry," the redhead said as they passed, "it's not as though you _couldn't - _"

"Sh," hissed the girl with a sidelong glance at Lola. Harry's cheeks went pink, and the redhead nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. 

Lola kept walking, but was stopped by the redhead's shout, "Hey, you there!" She slowed considerably, glancing over her shoulder. The redhead nodded, grinned, and waved a hand. "Yeah, you!" Lola stopped and turned to face them. "Come here a second."

"You'll have to excuse him," the girl said, smiling slyly and throwing a punch into the redhead's shoulder. "He's forgotten his manners."

"No, I haven't. I only - " She kicked his shin, and he stifled a yell as he turned away from her in pain, biting his knuckles.

"_Really_," said the girl, clearly exasperated, "he lacks tact." Lola watched as the redhead regained his composure and joined the conversation, grinning. The girl pointed to herself and hooked a thumb at the redhead. "I'm Hermione, and this is Ron."

"Yeah," said the Ron, "and this is Harry - " He grabbed Harry by the shoulder and ruffled his already tousled hair. 

"I'm Lola," said Lola, stepping back as the pair of them nearly toppled over. Hermione rolled her eyes, sighing.

"They can be such boys, these two," she said. She studied Lola's face. "You're a fifth year, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

Hermione appeared puzzled. "And you're not going to Hogsmeade?" Lola shook her head, and her curls bounced jovially. 

"Well, why not?" said Ron, coming out of his wrestling match with Harry. "Don't you like Honeydukes?" He grinned. "You don't like Butterbeers? The joke shop isn't your favorite place to spend all your Galleons?"

"I've just ... got some studying to do, that's all," Lola assured them, taking out her book and praying it wasn't one of her Muggle novels. Hermione looked delighted, and glanced at Harry triumphantly.

"Marvelous! What lesson?"

Glancing at the book, Lola murmured, "Potions," and made a face, realizing she had her copy of _Most Potente Potions_. Ron gagged, Harry winced, and even Hermione's face fell slightly.

"I see. Well, if you want to come, you're welcome to join us," she said, brightening again. Ron scoffed, plucking the book from Lola's hands.

"No," he said, holding it above his head. He was so tall, even Lola couldn't reach it at her height. "I say we have her come along anyway. It's a Saturday, Lola ... You've got all weekend to do your ruddy homework!"

Feeling she had no choice in the matter, she looked from Ron's cheeky grin to Hermione's hopeful smile, and said, "All right. Let me run to my dormitory for my cloak ... " Ron whooped, swinging the book through the air, and Hermione clapped her hands. Harry stood by, smiling, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"Meet us back here in ten minutes," Hermione said, taking the book from Ron and handing it to Lola. But in handling the text, she caught a glimpse of its title, and her eyes went wide. She looked at Lola, who tucked the book into her robes.

"Ten minutes, right. See you then, then," she called, sweeping back up to her dormitory.

In ten minutes' time, Lola had slipped into her dormitory, exchanged her book for a bag of coins, and taken down her cloak, scarf, and gloves. Avoiding the other students in the common room and corridors, she met up with Hermione in front of the Great Hall.

"Ron and Harry went back to their dormitory," Hermione explained. "They're to find us in Hogsmeade, outside of the Shrieking Shack." Lola nodded and followed her through the corridors and out the great doors of the castle. "So, you like to study?"

"Not so much study," Lola said, "as read. But I'll read anything, so studying isn't the torture for me that it is for a lot of people."

"Like Ron," Hermione laughed. "Won't go near his homework until just before each lesson. It's a miracle he hasn't failed out of Hogwarts yet." As they walked, the wind whistled by, sending flurries of snow through the air. Hermione carefully said, "But that book you had in the corridor - "

"_Most Potente Potions_?"

Hermione nodded earnestly. "It isn't still in the restricted section? Or did you have a professor sign for it? Who allowed you to take it out? Madam Pince threw a fit when we took it out second year ... "

"My brother Maurice sent it to me," Lola said simply, avoiding the mention of her father being a professor. "He works at a bookshop." Hermione questioned this thoroughly, and Lola made a note of it to have Maurice send a copy of _Potions _for Hermione.

Finally the pair of them reached the Shrieking Shack, where Harry and Ron were already waiting. Lola was a bit nonplussed that they should be there before she and Hermione, but said nothing on the matter.

"Where shall we go first, eh?" Ron said airily, hooking one elbow through Lola's and laying one arm over Hermione's shoulders. "Honeydukes? Zonko's? Or perhaps ... " He cast a glance back at Harry, who was walking a bit behind the three of them. "We could stop by Madam Rosmerta's humble abode for a round of Butterbeers?" 

@-'-,-'--

Before Lola could have objected, she had been swept into Honeydukes, where she bought herself a small box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and a package of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, and through Zonko's Joke Shop, where Ron had gotten her a joke wand. Hermione had then suggested they go into the bookshop, much to the chagrin of Ron, who protested loudly. Lola had been delighted, however, and purchased several new texts for herself.

Now she was seated at a corner table in the Three Broomsticks, a Butterbeer frothing on the table in front of her. To her right, Ron was leaning over the table, his chin resting on lanky arms supported by his elbows as he sipped his own Butterbeer through a straw. Hermione sat across the table, and Lola was keen to notice the long glances she passed in the redhead's direction. To her left, Harry continued to be his quiet self, which made it quite easy for Lola to forget he was with them.

"Hey, Harry," Ron said thoughtfully after a long sip on his straw. "D'you think Lola here knows anything about Advanced Divination?" Harry shrugged, looking at Lola hopefully. "Because we've that horrid lunar chart due on Monday, and - "

"No, she won't do the assignment for you," Hermione cut in decidedly. She addressed Lola apologetically. "You'd think he'd have learned by now that he's to do his own work around here. Harry, too." Ron looked genuinely shocked.

"Hermione, darling, I won't have you saying such things about our young Mister Potter," he said loftily, winking at Lola. "I've been such a bad influence on the lad, he's really a fantastic guy - wouldn't copy an assignment for any number of Galleons."

"Of course," Lola agreed, catching the amused roll of Hermione's eyes. She looked at Harry. "Then again, it could always be Harry who has been driving Ron into such a bad state, eh?" 

Ron howled with laughter; "Ah! She's even got a sense of humor! Harry, hold onto this one!" His comment was met with a sharp stab in his rib cage from Hermione, who glared daggers at him. Lola glanced furtively to Harry, whose cheeks were pink with a familiar blush.

@-'-,-'--

Having said goodbye to Hermione and Ron, who disappeared down the corridor to, Lola assumed, the Gryffindor common room, Lola stood absently in front of the Great Hall with Harry. Neither said anything; they simply stood facing one another while Harry's green eyes absorbed her wind-swept curls and Lola shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, avoiding his intense gaze.

"This was fun," Harry said at last, almost reluctantly. "Maybe ... maybe we could do something together again."

"Yeah," Lola said, "maybe we could." At this, Harry cleared his throat and gave a weak smile.

"Well, then, I'll - " He looked at her hopefully. "I'll see you around?" 

She nodded, and before she could turn away to leave Harry was leaning close, his lips brushing against hers in a clumsy kiss. Lola wondered fleetingly how many (or, perhaps, few) girls had the honor of saying they'd been kissed by the great Boy Who Lived before deciding ultimately that it must have made a rather short list by the nervous way in which he pulled away.

"Um," he said, taking a step back, and smiled. "I'll see you around, then." Lola nodded as he turned and began to walk away down the corridor; once he was a safe distance away, she grinned to herself. As soon as he was out of sight, however, and she had begun to make her way to her own common room, she laughed under her breath. 

She met Bobbie walking down a flight of stairs as she walked up, Bobbie positively glowing.

"How was Hogsmeade?" she asked, smiled dancing in her eyes. 

"It was ... interesting, to say the least." 

The younger girl nodded knowingly and glanced up and down the stairs and corridors beyond before saying, "And you said you didn't know Harry Potter," and tried to slip past without an inquiry. Lola paled slightly, grabbing Bobbie by her arm and pulling her into a deserted side corridor.

"What do you know about Harry Potter?" Bobbie, smiling oddly, didn't reply, but raised a sly eyebrow. "Bobbie, answer me. What do you know?"

The sister shook her off. "No need to get hysterical, Lola, I only saw you walking with Hermione Granger past the Great Hall on my way to breakfast ... I only assumed that you knew Harry because they're rarely apart outside of their dormitories, that's all." She leaned close. "But now you have to tell me everything about your trip to Hogsmeade, because it's quite obvious that something's up."

Lola sighed anxiously, glancing at her watch. "Let me drop my cloak in my dormitory and meet me in the library." Bobbie readily agreed, and Lola scurried off to the Ravenclaw common room. 

At her table between shelves in the library, Lola divulged information about her day to the eager ears of Bobbie; however, the one event she left out was Harry's maladroit kiss. She had a comforting feeling that he would tell only Ron and Hermione (if he told anyone) and would therefore keep it to herself, where she knew it would be safe.


	4. Eureka!

@-'-,-'--

"Eureka!"

It was a Thursday, which meant that Lola had Herbology with the Gryffindors. She had found herself carrying fewer books that usual as of late, and this particular Thursday she walked with only her bag slung over her shoulder. She was also running a bit earlier than was usual even for her, and as she made her way through the main corridors on her way to the greenhouses, she was walking against a trickle of seventh years coming from Professor Sprout's class. 

Because she didn't recognize any faces, she presumed the students were from Slytherin and Gryffindor. Her suspicions were confirmed presently as a familiar voice echoed over the heads of the seventh years from further up the line.

"Oi!" it called, "Lola! Over here!" Despite his brilliant red hair standing a head over the rest of the students in the halls, Ron had been indistinguishable until he had shouted. His arm was slung over Hermione's shoulders as it often was, and Harry was walking close, his eyes fixed on Lola. 

"You have Herbology on Thursdays?" Hermione asked. Lola nodded, and Hermione said excitedly, "Then we should meet between classes every week! Wouldn't that be fun?" 

"Yes," said Harry distractedly, "I suppose it would be." 

Hermione, taking the hint, nudged Ron back into the stream of seventh years, shouting over her shoulder, "Well catch up to you later, Harry; G'bye, Lola! Enjoy your lesson!" And suddenly Lola and Harry were the only two students in the corridor; the other seventh years had all passed one way or the other.

"How was your morning lesson?" Lola asked politely. Harry smiled and explained that Professor Sprout had given them a chance to maintain Gillyweed in the lake. 

"It was your typical Herbology lesson," he shrugged. "How was your morning?"

"How is any morning with Professor Binns?" she said. "I smuggled my book on Runes into class, though, so I didn't pass out like most of the class from sheer boredom." Harry smiled, agreeing that Binns' class was often the most dull - but Lola could see that he was not impressed that a book on Runes should make a lesson more exciting. 

Sweeping around a corner and up the corridor came the blond Slytherin Seeker, alone and frowning. When he saw Harry, his eyes lit up and darkened again just as quickly when he noticed Lola; he came to an abrupt halt in front of them.

"Ah, Potter, I see you've found a girlfriend," he said coolly, his silver eyes never leaving Harry's green. "And what a surprise - it isn't Granger. I was sure the Mudblood fancied you ... " He sighed in mock defeat. "Well, at least you aren't aiming too low, Potter. This one may be a professor's daughter, but she's a pureblood."

"Malfoy," Harry said, tensing, "leave it." The blond smirked, eyeing him with mirth shining in his eyes.

"Or you'll do what, exactly?" he drawled. "Run to your parents? That's not entirely possible, Potter, seeing that they're dead." Harry's eyes blazed with fury, and Lola stepped up to the blond.

"I suggest you leave it at that," she said, "or you might find your Defense marks taking a nasty turn for the worse." He finally tore his eyes from Harry and eyed Lola suspiciously. After a long and venomous glare, he fixed his gaze once more on Harry.

"You may have her to stand up for you now, Potter," he said, his voice a blade of silver, "but she won't always be by your side to help you out." With that, he shot a nasty glare at Harry before sweeping off again down the corridor. Harry relaxed considerably, exhaling in a long sigh.

"Sorry about that," he said weakly. "Malfoy has had it in for me since the first day we came to Hogwarts. Hermione says that he's jealous of me because - " He blushed slightly. "Well, he's jealous of me, anyway."

There was a long and slightly awkward pause, until Lola said, "You've a class to attend," and Harry nodded with a sigh. He kissed her again, though he was more confident this morning; his hand brushed her waist in a most decided fashion. 

"Can I meet you somewhere, later?" he said as he began to walk backwards down the corridor from her. "In the library, perhaps?"

"After supper," she called. "There's a table in the corner, near the Potions shelves. Hermione can show you where it is. Meet me there."

"All right!" Harry Potter disappeared around the corner, and Lola found herself thinking not of his green eyes, but of the exchange between Harry and the Slytherin Seeker. There had been something about the intensity of his eyes on Harry that continued to plague her mind, and she was determined to find it. 

The only troubling thing about it was that Lola kept remembering the way the Seeker had looked after defeating Hufflepuff in the first Quidditch match of the term, flushed and unkempt, and the way his hair, mussed by the wind, had shone under the softly falling snow on Halloween.

@-'-,-'--

Supper consisted of Hogwarts' famed Shepherd's Pie, which Lola enjoyed thoroughly after the Herbology lesson she had endured. 

Professor Sprout, it seemed, had thought it would make an excellent lesson for the fifth years to lull her Snapdragons into their yearly hibernation a month early. Lola had been partnered with a particularly feisty dragon who snorted fire through its flat purple snout and rolled its large black eyes menacingly at her all lesson as she fed it a Sleeping Draught altered for specific use on plants. 

As she now sat in the Great Hall, her attention was split between Harry at the next table, who glanced to her while Hermione and Ron talked at him, and the blond Seeker, whose gaze was stubbornly centered on his plate as he stirred the contents with his fork absently. Every now and again, the Slytherin would look up sharply at the Gryffindor table, but his eyes would only jerk downwards again moments later.

Lola was determined to quiet the nagging voice in her head about the intense gaze of the blond, but was slightly preoccupied by a plethora of other things, the most prominent being whatever relationship was brewing between her and Harry. She was quite aware that Harry was more interested in her than she in him, but was grateful for the friendships forming with Hermione and Ron and the attention she was receiving. 

In all her thoughts, Lola had been staring into a blur of colors in the Hall, and when she realized this she came back with a jolt. Ron was looking back at her, a slightly puzzled smile perched on his features; she flashed a bright and embarrassed smile and turned her attention on her food.

As she trickled through the doors and into the corridor, Harry caught her hand and pulled her aside. He seemed quiet unaware of the other students, several of whom were altogether too interested in the two of them talking and shot angry glares over their shoulders in passing.

"McGonagall's just told us," Harry said, "there's to be another Hogsmeade weekend in two weeks. You're coming, aren't you?" Lola nodded, rubbing her arm with the opposite hand. He beamed, looking slightly releived. "Oh, good." With a light, lingering kiss on her cheek, he drifted off with the other students, tossing a casual, "See you later, Lola!" over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd.

@-'-,-'--

The Hogsmeade weekend came much sooner than Lola had been expecting. In the two weeks, she had hardly picked up a book when Harry would sweep in out of nowhere, wanting to take a walk on the lawn or visit Hagrid in his little cabin on the fringe of the Dark Forest. At first, she had been flattered and quite happy to spend time with him; but she quickly grew tired with it all. She longed to curl up before a fire in the common room and read _A World of Fungi _from cover to cover as she had before she had become involved with Harry.

In Hogsmeade it was cold and blustery, and flurries of stinging snow were driven into Lola's face by a frigid wind. She tucked her scarf more securely around her neck, and Harry moved closer as they made their way from Honeydukes to Zonko's. 

While perusing the bins of sweets at Honeydukes, Lola had been keenly aware of three things: the unnecessary way Harry trailed after her as though he was some sort of enchanted, talking shadow; the entirely adorable manner in which Ron and Hermione's hands remained intertwined, the quiet whispers they shared, the enormous box of Chocolate Frogs he had bought her, and the fact that all of these things meant that Ron and Hermione were the most romantic couple Lola had ever known; and the pair of silver eyes flashing enviously from behind various displays around the shop. 

Lola had been able to ignore the silver gaze with little difficulty until Harry had been at the register, paying for a package of Ice Mice for her, and the blond Seeker had appeared, glaring venomously at Lola before sweeping out of the store. As he retreated, she saw him look back inside through the display windows, his gaze fixed on Harry with much less hatred than when fixed on her.

Ron was intent on buying a round of Filibuster Fireworks at Zonko's. Hermione and Lola were less enthused and stood together near the door and a display advertising the newest Cockroach Clusters while Harry followed Ron through the aisles of the shop. 

Once the boys were out of sight, Hermione turned to Lola with a smile. "So you and Harry are happy?" Lola nodded numbly, though forcing herself to smile would have been asking too much. If Hermione noticed her uninterested demeanor, she did not acknowledge it. "That's good. He can hardly stop talking about you."

"Really." Lola said this not as a question or a statement, but more as an indicator to Hermione that she was listening, though Lola had not doubted that Harry would be one to babble ceaselessly about someone.

"Yeah," Hermione said with a wistful sigh, her mind clearly somewhere else. "You know, Ron is the best thing that's happened to me since Arithmancy ... " Lola smiled sincerely at this, and suddenly Ron came bounding up to them, holding in his hands a pile of colorful wrappers.

"Look what they carry now!" He beamed, pouring the lot into Hermione's hands. Lola peered at the candies (for, as she saw now, that is what the wrappers held) and looked to Ron with puzzlement clouding her features.

"These aren't - Are they what I think they are," said Hermione, slightly bewildered but delighted nonetheless. Ron nodded proudly, taking one and handing it to Lola.

"Isn't it marvelous?" And he disappeared again. Hermione was inspecting the candies more closely, and Lola unwrapped the one Ron had given her.

"No!" Hermione slapped the candy out of her hand just as Lola was about to pop it into her mouth, and explained, "Ron's brothers Fred and George invented these several years ago. They're Ton-Tongue Toffees; they make the consumer's tongue swell up and turn purple and slimy." She grinned, saying, "They tried them out on Harry's cousin Dudley - the boy's parents were too stupid to let Mr Weasley sort things out and poor Dudley's tongue was choking him before they finally let him use a Disengorgement Charm." She looked down at the handful of Toffees she held in her hand and added, "Who would have thought that the twins would have successfully marketed some of their old pranks?"

After Ron and Harry had purchased bags full of tricks and Filibuster Fireworks, they, Hermione, and Lola left the shop in favor of a safer setting; Hermione forced Ron into the bookshop, while Harry hardly complained about Lola wandering among the shelves.

Again, Lola was keenly aware of an outside pair of eyes on them, and she glanced through a bookshelf to see the now-familiar, piercing gaze of the blond Slytherin fixed on the two of them. It was unnerving to be followed by someone, only to be glared at through masses of texts; but especially unnerving was the distinct feeling that she was being glared at while Harry was receiving lingering, longing glances from the Slytherin that truly upset Lola.

She randomly selected a book from the shelf she had paused beside and shoved it at Harry, saying, "I think I'll be getting this one," to which Harry dug out a handful of Sickles with which he willingly purchased the book. Later, Lola discovered she had picked up a copy of Gilderoy Lockhart's _Wanderings With Werewolves_, of which she already owned two copies. It was of little matter; Maurice would take it back in exchange for a different book if she asked him.

At the Three Broomsticks, Lola kept her eye on the Slytherin, who was seated at a table across the room with his burly friends and looking rather put out that he should be sitting with them, while Hermione and Ron debated the usefulness of History of Magic. 

"Why should we care about the rebellions lead by goblins and trolls when we could be studying Transfiguration or some useful magic?" Hermione said, to which Ron replied, "Binns doesn't give homework, Hermione; McGonagall does. I'd rather be in History than Transfigurations any day, if it cut down on the assignments I've to do!"

When the four of them had gone through their first Butterbeer each, Harry volunteered to take their tankards up to Madam Rosmerta to have them refilled, and Lola found herself watching the Slytherin for some sort of reaction. The blond's gaze never left Harry as he made his way through the crowded room, and as Harry came back to the table, his silver eyes flickered down to his own untouched Butterbeer.

The conversation shifted to the difficultly of Snape's impending end of term exam, which Ron was sure he would fail. Hermione attempted to boost his ego, but only managed to make him more nervous about the test.

"Ron, you'll be fine," she said knowingly. "Your Hair-Raising Draught was excellent - even Snape admitted that." Ron's grey eyes went wide.

"I have to remember the Hair-Raising Draught?" he said. "But, 'Mione, I'm no good at Potions - I only copied what _you _did!"

Lola, wanting to test the Slytherin's reaction once more, slipped the tip of her wand close to her tankard and muttered a spell. Instantly, the tankard was empty, and she told Harry this casually.

"I'll get you another," he offered immediately. She readily agreed, catching the suspicious look Hermione gave her but ignoring it completely as she listened to Ron's list of other exams he was sure he'd fail.

Again, the blond boy's eyes never left Harry as he crossed the room, and when Harry turned, Lola saw the silver eyes drifted lazily over his skinny frame, drinking up his appearance through his school robes. As though a switch had turned in her mind, everything suddenly made sense to Lola.

"Egad," she murmured, "that's been it all along." Ron, who had been talking about the boy Ginny was most recently taken with, looked at her oddly, raising an eyebrow. 

Harry arrived at the table, and Ron lost the puzzled look in favor of a joking glint in his eyes, saying brightly, "Eureka! We've done it, Lola, we've really done it this time! Brilliant work, what?" Hermione rolled her eyes, and Lola's usually solemn face split into a grin as she accepted her Butterbeer from Harry.

"Very funny," she said, though her mind was across the room with the Slytherin.

Ron nodded; "I thought so, yes."

"But what've you realized, Lola?" Hermione asked curiously, her eyes asking the real question of why Lola had magicked away her Butterbeer if it would take Harry from the table.

"It's nothing, really," she said lightly. "I just thought of a book I was going to get while we were here - I had completely forgotten it until just now." Though she didn't seem content, Hermione accepted this answer, and Ron inserted a new subject of conversation before any of them could object.


	5. You're a Girl, Lola.

@-'-,-'--

"You're a Girl, Lola."

Christmas was soon approaching, and, despite the fact that she usually opted to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays, Lola was going home. 

On the day the train left from Hogsmeade Platform, Lola said goodbye to Hermione, Ron, and Harry, who were to stay at the school, over breakfast. Because of the holidays, students ate their meal at any table they wished; and Hufflepuffs sat with Ravenclaws, Gryffindors dined with Hufflepuffs. The Slytherins, however, remained elite and only allowed Slytherins to sit among them. 

Lola sat at the Gryffindor table between Harry and Dennis Creevey and across from Hermione and Ron. Harry was much quieter than he was even on a regular basis, and Ron seemed to have less to joke about than usual. Hermione had been questioning Lola about her revelation at the Three Broomsticks ever since, but, today, she left the subject untouched as they ate their last meal together before the week-long holiday.

After breakfast, Lola followed Harry into a side deserted side corridor, and he promised he would owl often and miss her very much. She nodded, murmuring a similar vow, though she understood that she would not owl often or miss him very much at all, before he pulled her into a smothering embrace and kissed her.

At the platform, Harry told her goodbye again, and Lola gave hugs to Hermione and Ron. Ron promised, as well, that he would owl, and Hermione told her that her present was on its way via school owl. This time, when Lola returned the promise to owl Hermione and Ron often, she meant it.

On the train, Bobbie found Lola in an empty compartment, reuniting herself with her books. The first year seemed slightly disgusted.

"You're _studying_, Lola?" she said in disbelief, taking a seat across from her sister. "But it's _holiday_! Relax!"

Lola looked at her and replied, "I have not relaxed in two months because of Harry Potter. And it's not studying, Bobbie; I'm trying to reacquaint myself with _The Wizard of Oz_."

"The wizard of what?" Bobbie said, puzzled, and Lola shooed her away, burying her nose into her book again happily.

The train arrived at King's Cross and Lola's mother was there to meet them. While Maria and Elise seemed thrilled to be home again, Deirdre was devastated to be separated from her Quidditch team and said a teary farewell to them while the rest of the family waited impatiently. Bobbie said goodbye to William Creevey somewhat reluctantly, but was more easily persuaded to make the goodbye a short one when mention of a new litter of kittens at home was made.

The Rosens (even Timothy left the school this year) crowded around a Portkey to the town nearest their house. Lola, while glad to be away from Harry for a bit, was not entirely impressed with being home, but thought the house had never looked better.

The sprawling lawn and garden gave way to a stately white house with black shutters on each window. There was a screened-in porch on one side and a smaller porch at the front door, and when the family approached the house, the dog Amadeus came bounding out from the back to greet them happily. 

Lola sighed as her trunk was magicked into her room; now she was free to mull over her revelation about the Slytherin Seeker without having to worry about homework or being interrupted by Madam Pince in the library.

@-'-,-'--

When Maurice Apparated just before Christmas, Lola was eating breakfast in the nook behind the kitchen. He startled her so badly that she upturned her porridge on his head and refused to apologize until he presented her with two new books from Flourish and Blotts. After they ate, then, they wrapped themselves up in their cloaks and took a walk with Amadeus bounding happily through the snow ahead of them.

"How was your term?" Maurice asked, and then added with a wink and a sly smile, "You haven't been sending as many owls as you usually do - have you gotten a boyfriend who's eating all of your time away?"

Lola blushed in spite of herself and said, "Well, he doesn't eat _all _of my time, you know." 

"What's his name," he said with a sigh, and she blushed further, because she knew what his reaction would be. As she mumbled, "Harry Potter," his dark eyes went wide, and he grabbed hold of the sleeve of her cloak.

"Harry Potter?" he repeated, his voice catching oddly; and when she nodded, he took her around her middle and lifted her from the ground, her head hanging near the snow while her feet waved helplessly in an involuntary handstand. "Your new boyfriend is _the _Harry Potter?"

"Yes," she gasped, clinging to his snow-covered cloak desperately. "Could you please put me down?" He flipped her 'round easily, and they continued walking, though Maurice was utterly baffled by the concept.

"How on Earth did that come about?" he said, and she told him the whole story, including the bits about the Slytherin Seeker. He listened intently until she finished.

"Draco Malfoy," said Maurice knowingly. "Slytherin Seeker and son of Lucius Malfoy, known Death Eater and all around evil guy. But Draco - all I know is that he has it in for Harry, byt the way they bickered while I was at Hogwarts. Granted, they were eleven, but they were at each other's throats every time they met." Lola grinned, then giggled, not able to suppress it. "What? What is it?"

"I - I can't say," she said once she had composed herself. "It's really not my business to tell ... "

"Oh, just tell me, Lola," Maurice scoffed. "It's not like I'm still a second year at Hogwarts out ot spread rumors about it, is it?"

"Alright, alright." She took in a deep breath, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes. She hesitated dramatically when he waiting impatiently, crossing his arms; he scowled, and she said (before he could flip her on her head again), "Draco likes boys."

"_What_?" Lola looked at him solemnly, her dark eyes twinkling merrily.

"Draco's gay."

"You're sure?" Maurice said carefully after a long moment, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "You're not just pulling this theory out of thin air, are you? Because you _have_ been known to - "

"No - I'm _not _making this up!" she said indignantly. "The way he watches Harry ... it's so intense and unblinking. I first thought that he just didn't like him, was staring at him in hopes his head would split apart, but we were at Hogsmeade a few weeks ago, and - " She stopped, remembering the hungry, longing look in Draco's eye that day. "And, Maurice, believe me when I say that Draco Malfoy doesn't _hate _Harry - he loves him." Her tone indicated that she was saddened by this.

Maurice paused before collecting her into a hug. "Lola, I'm sorry." She wiggled away from his arms, looking at him as though he had just suggested an idea as ridiculous and impossible as she and Ron were entertaining a relationship.

"Good gracious, what for?" 

He smiled warmly; "I know you fancy him. Draco, I mean; it's obvious you aren't as keen about Harry." She listened as he continued, "But you're a girl, Lola, and ... well ... to stand a chance with Draco you'd have to be, quite obviously, a boy."

Lola's heart sank for a reason she couldn't quite place, and she vowed to herself to find a way to overcome her disadvantage.

@-'-,-'--

The scarlet steam engine coughed onto the platform, spitting steam and grim onto the tracks; mothers were weeping for their children, who would not be seen again in five long months, and friends greeted friends as though it had been years, not weeks, since they had seen one another. 

Professor Timothy Rosen stood wrapped around his wife as their daughters found their cliques, boyfriends, and Quidditch teams, and he watched Lola dig through her leather school bag restlessly as she glanced around sporadically for Potter. Rosen smiled; he was glad to see her finally take interest in the real world, despite his years of encouraging her to read anything she could get her hands on.

More than a full head taller than most on the platform, Maurice stood out entirely. He seemed out of place even with his cloak, which, black and flowing, resembled the required school cloaks with its silver clasps; the reason he didn't quite appear to belong in the wizarding world must have been in his fading blue jeans, not his black boots, collared white shirt, or neatly combed hair. He stood beside Lola, creating quite a picture (it looked as though, with their dark hair and eyes, heights, and pale complexions, they were twins) to those around them, and he whispered commentary about the passing wizards and witches while keeping a straight face.

Lola found herself irritated that Maurice continuously prevented her from rechecking the contents of her bag, as he watched her closely. Though she was not entirely sure that he trusted her (if he didn't, why would he hang about as he was?), Lola hoped he did; and, in any case, she was thoroughly tired of having him hovering at her side all the while.

"Come along, then," said Elise in a bothered sort of way, who passed Lola. "The train's going to leave you standing here if you don't get a move on."

"She's right, you know," Maurice said when he saw the annoyed look in Lola's eyes.

With a sigh, Lola agreed, and she climbed onto the train with Bobbie; and while most of the students were pleased to be going back to Hogwarts, none were as pleased as Lola, for she had constructed a perfect plan to ensnare Draco Malfoy which would not fail.


	6. Invisible

@-'-,-'--

- Book Two - Draco -

"Invisible"

The train seemed empty without his inherited goons on either side of him, but Draco didn't seem to notice the emptiness so very much as he did the silence. Usually, with Crabbe and Goyle sitting opposite him in a compartment somewhere near Harry's (but always far enough that it was not obvious), there was a continuous stream of speech, even at the level of Draco telling them how fabulous his father was, how much money he had, how stupid Crabbe and Goyle were. 

But sitting alone by the window, nowhere near Harry, watching the country flying past with one eye and his own silver reflection with the other, it was silent and unnerving.

And then - Draco heard them. Voices from a nearby compartment.

He got to his feet, smoothing his robes, and swept away from his seat, abandoning the smudged window and the silence of the empty seats opposing him. 

In the compartment next to his own, Draco was expecting to find a pair of girls. He was quite surprised to saunter into the compartment and find, studying the plain, white shirt he wore and leather boots on his feet, a young man with dark, curly hair. The young man looked up at him in surprise, and Draco blinked back, nonplussed.

And then the dark young man smiled, unexpectedly.

"Hullo," he said, extending his hand. Draco shook warily, fully aware of this handsome someone's strong, warm grasp and hesitation before taking back his hand. 

"My name is Draco Malfoy," Draco said smoothly, refusing to exhibit how unnerved he felt by the presence of the dark stranger. He cocked an eyebrow winningly. "And yours?"

"Lowell - " The dark young man - Lowell - paused, looking sheepish and taken aback by himself.

"Well, Lowell," said Draco, smiling coyly in obvious flirtation, "do you have a last name to go along with that?"

Shaking his head to remove his curls from his dark eyes, Lowell shrugged, "Yes." Draco chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest and casting an appraising look over Lowell.

"My, you are a man of few words." He paused, allowing time for a chuckle, which Lowell did. Then he said, "Let's hear it, then."

Slight panic - or was it just nerves? - chased across Lowell's long features before he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could have uttered a word, the compartment door slipped aside loudly and the young Bobbie Rosen came in, flushed with anger.

"I have no idea why you would tell me - " She blanched several shades in surprise at the sight of the dark young man - damn it, his name was Lowell, Draco scolded himself - and was about to speak again when she shrugged absently and said in a voice more soft than before, "Sorry, wrong compartment. I'm looking for Lola, have you seen her?"

Draco glanced at Lowell, who gazed steadily at the girl with little reaction; his jaw was clenched, and there was a muscle in his neck which twitched slightly at intervals. The silver Slytherin found it endearing. 

"No," said Draco nonchalantly, burying his hands in the pockets of his dark school robes. "You must be a compartment off."

"Yes, I must be," agreed the girl, throwing a hard glance at Lowell. He ignored it completely, and watched her stalk out of the compartment with a scowl in her eyes. Draco tilted his head slightly to the left and smiled.

"You know the girl?"

Shrugging, Lowell muttered incoherently and began straightening the things on the seat cushions, bags and robes and an oddly bound book. He then slung himself into the seat beside the window and rapidly passing snow-laden country, assuming the casual, spread-eagle position of a decidedly masculine male. Following his lead, Draco also sat down, though his stance was much less open than Lowell's.

"So, then, are you a seventh year as well?" said Draco, taking a stab at small talk. Lowell shrugged, his tenebrous eyes making no effort to mask his drinking in of Draco's lean but muscular frame. Draco grinned, pleased with himself, added, "I haven't seen you around Hogwarts."

Lowell's eyes flickered up to Draco's pale and pointed features, and his lip curled slightly upward in a secretive smile. He barely leaned forward, brushing a loose curl from his forehead with a calloused hand, tilting his head toward Draco.

"I am invisible when I want to be," he said, and Draco's heart skipped a beat; he had been pining to be invisible for years, and now he would be able to be so. He had no intention, from that moment, of allowing this enigmatic young man from his clutches without first draining all he wanted from him. 

@-'-,-'--

It was habit for Draco to leave the castle in favor of a quiet corner of the grounds, especially a small grove of birch trees overlooking the lake from a small knoll. Here, he could look out over the mirror-like and icy water with his back to the school and ignore the world for a precious few hours.

He had been at the school for barely two days and was keen on leaving already; between the back-stabbing Slytherins, professors and their exams, self-righteous Gryffindors, overly friendly Hufflepuffs, and arrogant Ravenclaws, Draco wanted nothing more than to escape from it all. Unfortunately, between Pansy Parkinson's nosy inqueries and his lesson schedule, he could not leave the castle for more than an hour at a time.

In any case, the intimate grove of birch trees provided a sheltered escape quite nicely, and Draco had seized an oppotunity just after Double Potions to disappear from the castle. He leaned against one white and black trunk while propping a foot against another, closed his silver eyes and breathed deeply the clean smell of the lake and mountains beyond.

Very suddenly Draco was aware of someone standing just beyond the birch grove. He had not heard this someone approach, but he _had _just heard the intruder shift his weight on the hard snow; Draco judged it was a male someone because of the blocky, harsh way in which he moved and approached and now stood barely two feet from Draco.

Opening one eye, the blond, at first, thought he might have been deceived. Curling, dark hair and wide expressive eyes contrasted the snow; he was sure it was Lola, come back for more venom for his raining of insults upon her precious Potter. 

But upon turning slightly to exchange a cold word with the girl, he realized that it was truly a young man standing in the snow. Leather boots covered his feet and dark trousers encased his legs; a plain, white, collared shirt was hanging over what Draco could see was a well-muscled frame, halfway covered by a draping black cloak fastened with a silver clasp at his throat. The dark curls of hair fell over his forehead in a fringe, and past his ears and over his neck in invitingly long tendrils. 

"Looks as though I'm not the only one to come up here on occasion," Lowell-without-a-surname said, and his voice was rich and velvet in Draco's mind. 

Pressing himself against the silver bark of the birch tree, Draco replied, "Perhaps we should arrange to come up here together sometime." 

Boots crunched over the snow, and suddenly Lowell was beside Draco, looking down into his pale eyes with one eyebrow cocked suggestively; he was leaning against the tree with his arm extended, his hand pressing against the cold birch just above Draco's left shoulder.

"There's no time like the present."

And Draco arched his back, propelling himself and his lips against the darker entity; and much to Draco's delight, Lowell was kissing him in return, his dry lips surprisingly gentle as they dared to part and allow a tongue to pass. As a cold wind ruffled Draco's hair, he was parting his own silken lips, and he shivered against the cold to which he had been immune for so long. Lowell wrapped himself around Draco, his cloak falling over him, and they were sharing their warmth within the course black fabric in a grove of silver birch trees beside the lake. Draco sighed into Lowell, and he grudgingly admitted to himself that being swept away with his handsome stranger was much better than pining for the boyfriend of a professor's bookworm daughter.


	7. Just Naive

I told myself I would never use the word 'reckon' when writing Brits. Unfortunately, I lied.

I have been utterly horrible about updating. I blame my American Lit prof, my 'breakup' with my best friend (what sucks most is that we've been best friends for seven years; suddenly I can't stand her...it's really a mess), and Amanda's birthday (we rode the L into the city for supper at Greek Islands - I highly recommend the saganaki and musaka if anyone is ever in Chicago).

@-'-,-'--

"Just Naive"

The tapestry was rotting and frayed around the edges, as most of the tapestries at Hogwarts were; its Slytherin green, silver, and black threads playing a scene of Salazar Slytherin speaking with a team of menacing snakes. He shivered within his cloak, but Draco had told him come here at exactly ten-fifteen, when the professors would be in class with the rest of the Slytherin student body and no one would disturb them.

Just as he glanced at his watch (which told him Draco was forty-three seconds late for their rendezvous), the tapestry was blown against the wall by a sudden rush of air, and from a sliding panel in the stone of the opposite wall came Draco Malfoy, dressed to the nines and smiling as though he held a precious secret.

Lowell opened his mouth to speak, but Draco was upon him, his hand pressing against Lowell's lips and smelling like lilacs; his words were soft but firm: "Come with me."

So he came with Draco, following the silver boy through a dark, damp passage and into a long, octagonal room. At the center of the room was a cold hearth in which an uncharacteristically warm, orange flame licked the surrounding air and exquisitely carved, silver marble mantelpiece. From the low ceiling hung lamps of serpentine green glass, and covering the cold stone floors were thin but plush area rugs. Drawn together in groups of four or five were high-backed armchairs of the same silver marble of the mantelpiece and plush green velvet. There were few windows, each of which was very close to the ceiling and hung with thick green drapes tied with fat silver ropes.

Draco strolled into the room as though he owned it; he glanced back to Lowell, who gazed about in awe of such a cold, uncomfortable room, and grinned.

"It's brilliant, isn't it?" he gloated, sinking into one of the green-and-marble armchairs sideways, so his legs were hanging over one arm and his back against the other. "My father paid for most of this - before I came, it was in absolute shambles." He glanced around appraisingly and added, "But now it's decent enough that we can all spend hours down here without becoming sick by the sight of it all."

"It's lovely," said Lowell in a sigh. Draco raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. 

Instead, he got to his feet and, nearly bounding across the room, seized Lowell's broad and callused hand, pulled him through a door hidden in a corner of the room; and they came out in another cold, stone room, much smaller than before but still roomy. 

Four-poster beds, each post a silver marble likeness of a hooded snake, stood in each corner of the room, and each was hung with the same thick green drapes as the windows of the common room. By each bed was a dark wooden dresser with silver handles on the drawers, a trunk marked with its student's name, and a plush green rug. The floor not covered by rugs was hardwood, dark and shining warmly in the light from glass lamps hanging from the ceiling. 

Draco settled onto the bed furthest from the door through which they came, his lean frame sinking slightly into the green bedsheets. When Lowell stood hovering at the door, Draco leaned back, balancing himself by hugging one knee to his chest.

"I know nothing about you," he said. "I know your first name, your ability to be invisible, and that kissing you is like heaven on earth."

"Is there anything more you need to know?" 

Draco laughed; "I suppose not....No. But at least tell me how I can reach you when you're 'invisible,' won't you?"

There was silence for a moment, until Lowell came more completely into the room and sat on the edge of the bed adjacent to Draco's.

"In the Owlery, there is a snowy owl with very pale blue eyes. One of its feet is tagged with a blue-and-black ribbon," he said. "This is my sister's owl. Send it with whatever message you have to her, and she'll get it to me without reading it." At the flicker of uncertainty in Draco's eyes, Lowell added, "I trust her with everything important to me."

"I learned at a young age that trust is for the weak," said Draco, an eyebrow raised in skepticism. "The weak trust others because they cannot trust themselves - only the strong believe in themselves enough to realize that no one can help them better than they can help themselves."

"Very philosophical," Lowell admitted after a long moment, "but incorrect. While I trust my sister, I trust in myself most of all, which should make sense to you." He smiled, beckoning Draco closer, and they sat on the edges of their respective beds mere inches apart. 

Draco didn't trust himself to breathe; they were close enough that at any second they would be melting into one another as they had in the birch grove, and he closed his eyes slowly, sighing softly to himself.

"I'm not weak," Lowell finished in a whisper Draco felt upon his lips; "I'm just naive."

@-'-,-'--

For nearly an hour, Draco had explored Lowell's beautiful body; but as most enjoyable moments in life happen to end much too quickly, the dark young man had glanced at his watch and disappeared like Cinderella in Muggle fairy tales. 

Presently Draco reclined in one of several armchairs before a roaring fire in the common room, staring absently into the licking, reaching, grasping flames and thinking about many things - though most of his thoughts were centered around Lowell's tongue sliding down his pale collarbone.

Had Crabbe and Goyle not woken him from his trance, Draco never would have left the common room for supper, nor would he have completed his homework for Professor Sprout detailing the effects of Pop-Cap Mushrooms on severe burns and rashes.

But after supper, after his homework was completed, Draco grew restless. He had too much energy flooding his veins, too much excitement and happiness (a decidedly peculiar emotion to overcome Draco) to sit still. He had to get out.

Dressed in comfortable if not slightly dressy Muggle clothing (he was even too restless to wear his required school robes, and instead wore neatly pressed grey trousers and a thin black sweater), Draco left the common room without answering Pansy Parkinson's requests for help on her Divination assignment. He wandered corridors which he was sure had not been used in more than half a century, they were so covered in dust and mold, and made a point of staying away from the Great Hall and main corridors.

Eventually Draco found himself at the center of a star where corridors crossed on the fifth floor. To his right, a gallery of armor; to his left, a long row of unused classrooms and storage cupboards; behind him, a long and seemingly endless flight of cobwebbed stairs; and before him, two corridors, both well-lit and cleaned recently. The entrance of one was flanked by statues of seraphs, and the other had an intricately tiled floor portraying the founding of Hogwarts. 

As he was pondering the route to take, Draco heard the footfalls and amiable laughter of several seventh years well-known to him: the Dream Team, the golden boy - his enemy and rival for four long years, his infatuation, aspiration, and hope for three.

"Oi, Hermione, don't be nearly so hard on yourself," Ron, a gangling, long-nosed Weasley called over his shoulder as the three students appeared at the intersection of corridors. "Lola didn't go back to the dorm for want of better company - those Ravenclaw fifth years are gossiping, arrogant, and petty. She forgot her - " 

He stopped short when he saw Draco standing casually, watching with innocent silver eyes. Potter eyed him warily, but said nothing; Granger murmured something into his ear, and he coughed to stifle a fit of laughter.

"I didn't realize the Malfoy Fan Club was meeting here this afternoon," said Ron snidely. He made a sweeping bow to Draco, who raised an eyebrow in disbelief at their immaturity and rude sense of humor. "Good evening, Mr President. Carry on, hope we weren't interrupting, then. Come along, Hermione, Harry - We're mucking about in the middle of a highly important meeting here."

"Don't expect to get any further than your father did, Weasley, if you think you can go about insulting people who have more power in this world than you do." He offered a very innocent, very bright, very forced smile to the redhead, who crossed his long arms over his narrow chest and glared at the blond. Granger and Potter hovered at the doorway with the seraphs, wanting to extract themselves from the scene without leaving Ron to get in trouble if a fight was started.

"Why does every insult you can come up with have to do with my family?" Ron asked calmly, "I'm not my father, after all...."

"Hopefully," said Draco, "you're worth more than that." Before Ron could reply, he added, "And what would you rather have me insult? You've got a lovely girlfriend, Weasley. I reckon if you started to find her under all of that hair this week you'd be able to see her face by the time next term ends."

"Now, Malfoy," said Potter, unwisely inserting himself in the conflict. Granger remained beside the seraphs, sniffling. "Could you leave Hermione out of this? She's not done a thing to you."

Draco turned on him, his hands finding his pockets empty; he'd forgotten his wand. But his hands remained in his pockets, if for no other reason than to worry Potter and Ron, and he tilted his head slightly to one side with a look in his eyes that said 'no, it doesn't make any more sense from this angle.'

"You haven't got much room to speak, Potter," he retorted slowly. "After all, _your _girlfriend - Lola, is it? - looks as though she's been sleeping in a crypt; but I wouldn't put that past her, knowing her father. Rosen's eccentric, Potter." He grinned wickedly. "Ever wonder if perhaps their whole family is vampires?"

Blushing, Potter warned, "Don't say a word about Lola, Malfoy - or you'll regret it."

Draco was, by this time, enjoying himself thoroughly, and rocked slightly on the balls of his feet. His silver eyes were laughing coldly, and he shook a loose strand of sleek blond hair from his face.

"Should I be worried that your parents will avenge you?"

From his right, a blur of red came at him, and Draco found himself skipping across the flagstones of the floor as Ron pulled him to the ground. His hands were fixed at the collar of Draco's sweater, his eyes blazing with fury and hatred. Draco calmly stared him down, frowning ever so slightly.

"If you lay one finger on me, I swear, I'll - "

"What," spat Ron, "You'll get your daddy to have my father fired? I hate to tell you this, Malfoy, but if you even dare to, I'll have the authorities searching that secret chamber below your study for all of the Dark stuff you're trying to smuggle."

Refusing to fight back, Draco took a knee in his stomach, and Ron tightened his grip on Draco's neck. The blond remained calm and steady, his head pressed against the cold and unfeeling floor; his bit his lip and grunted as Ron's fist slammed against his ribcage and hip. The redhead was kneeling on Draco's leg, and the awkward sensation of pins and needles indicated that his foot was falling asleep rapidly.

"Get off, Weasley," he groaned as his skull cracked against the floor. 

"I'm not done yet....You'll be less of a man than you were before by the time I finish with you."

"Weasley!" a voice from one of the corridors exploded. "Let him go!" 

Ron, frightened by the resounding depths of the deep voice which interrupted him as well as propelled by a great shove from Draco, stumbled to his feet, backing away from the blond laying on the floor. A tall, dark young man was kneeling by Draco, who groaned as he sat up, his pale eyes watering with pain. They spoke in hushed voices for a moment, Draco glared at Ron across the hall, and the dark man offered a hand.

When Draco was on his feet, he murmured something to the stranger, who turned on Ron with a cold and disgusted expression in his dark eyes. Draco limped away, sweeping his hair out of his eyes with a furious backward glance to Ron.

In the silence that followed, the dark young man looked from Potter to Ron with extreme dislike, frowning, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Nothing," he said, his words reverberating off of the stone walls and floor and ceiling, "absolutely nothing, could have justified physically attacking him like that." Ron looked away, Potter squirmed in great discomfort. "What did he say?"

Potter's face darkened as he said, "He insulted Hermione - "

"My girlfriend!" interjected Ron heatedly.

"That's enough out of you," the dark man snapped.

"He insulted Lola - "

"_His _girlfriend!" 

"Weasley, shut up, or I'll take you to your Head of House."

Hermione piped up, stepping into the intersection of corridors on shaking legs. "Excuse me, sir, but may I just say that this isn't the first time Malfoy has launched an attack against us."

"I know," replied the young man icily, "thank you, Miss Granger." She looked quite taken aback to have been called by name, but shut her mouth and refused to speak again until they had left.

In the long silence to follow, Ron stood uncomfortably, rubbing his arm and avoiding the piercing and somber stare. Potter, relieved to not be in Ron's position, studied the man's dark features; his liquid black eyes were so unusual and unique, but so familiar to him. And as he pondered this, the man glanced at his watch.

Then, he spoke abruptly, "I happen to like Draco."

"But_ why_?" said Ron, unabashed. A menacing glance silenced him, and he was reverted to his silent and meek state.

"I like him because he's human," said the man, simply but firmly. "He has his weaknesses, like the rest of us. Not many people realize that."

And he disappeared down the dusty corridor from whence he came.


	8. Lola

@-'-,-'--

"Lola."

They leaned over an elegant chessboard made of glass and black granite specked with grey, their chairs pulled up to one of many marble tables in the room and a fire roaring gleefully in the grate, and Lowell's dark eyes flickered from his glass chessmen to Draco's pointed features. Draco gazed pensively at the board, stroking his chin as his pale eyes murmured strategies.

"So," said Lowell at last, "what lesson are you skipping to be here with me?"

Draco, unfazed, did not so much as take his eyes from his game as he replied, "Skip a lesson? Me? How dare you accuse me of such a thing....I never skip class."

"How is it that you're here, then, instead of with the rest of your house?"

At this, Draco smiled conspiritually, his eyes sparking with cunning, and said, "Well, technically, I should be in Potions right now....But then again, I _am _there." 

Lowell appeared baffled and intrigued by this, and Draco chuckled. 

"As I have already told you, I never skip class," he said smartly, "I simply don't need to."

One pale, slender hand reached below Draco's dress shirt, the top buttons of which had long since been unbuttoned to reveal an ivory collarbone, and pulled out a thin silver chain. From the chain, upon which the licking tongues of flame from the hearth danced in hypnotising waves, hung a small hourglass wrought from silver and glass; inside, the sand seemed to be made of molten silver itself, and though Draco jostled the tiny contraption as he showed it, the sand continued to trickle downward in a steady trail, never faltering once.

"This," he said with a flourish, "is a Timeturner. I go to Potions, I come back here with the rest of the class, I disappear behind the curtains on my bed, I turn this lovely thing over twice, and sit with you until my two hours is up." Now Lowell looked impressed, and reached out a hand to further inspect the Timeturner. "The only thing I have to remember is to be back on my bed when my time is up."

"What happens if you aren't on your bed when the sand runs out?"

Draco grinned, and he said, "I'll have quite a time explaining the concept to those toads I share my bedroom with, that's for sure."

Lowell chuckled, and their game of wizard chess resumed, folding the pair into a comfortable silence. When the game ended with a badly splintered granite knight and a crumbling glass castle, Draco put up the board and fell back against the plush green velvet of his chair.

"The world has just ended," said Lowell suddenly, the beginnings of a smile shimmering in his dark eyes, "completely destroyed by Voldemort's holocaustic terrors. There are only two people left on earth. One, the more handsome of the pair, is you." He smiled broadly then, cocking an eyebrow into the curls fringing over his forehead. "Would you rather spend the rest of your post-apocalyptic life with Pansy Parkinson or Ron Weasley?"

Draco grimaced, but answered honestly, "Parkinson. Then, at least, I wouldn't die of sexual frustration - she'd spread her legs in an instant. I'd be more likely to perish the next morning; I'd have a heart attack from seeing her there beside me."

"Fair enough," Lowell said, chortling. "Hermione Granger or....Blaise Zabini?"

"Zabini," Draco replied without hesitation. "Granger is brilliant, but she's too much of an intellectual to realize that she's beautiful, or do anything with her beauty. That is, if she's even realized it yet."

"You would choose arrogance and selfishness over neglected beauty?"

"Yes." 

"That's shallow."

"It's human," said Draco, a bemused smile lingering on his pale lips. "You didn't ask me which would be the better decision - you asked which I would choose, and I would definately choose Zabini over Granger if the world had just combusted into a barren desert of pain and suffering."

Lowell shook his head, his curls bouncing, and conceded. "Very well. Would you choose....Millicent Bulstrode or Colin Creevey?"

The blond was silent for a long moment, and Lowell watched him with some interest. Finally, Draco said, "Creevey."

Very much taken aback, Lowell asked, of shock rather than of anything else, "But why?"

"I don't think I can answer that one logically. On one hand, Millicent Bulstrode is an ogre of a girl, and on the other, little Creevey would be terribly easy to seduce and mold into the perfect post-apocalyptic life-mate."

"Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil?"

"Parvati."

"Crabbe or Goyle?"

"Eurgh, why would you even ask me that? I would rather die with the rest in extreme suffering than spend my post-apocalyptic life with either - or both."

"Understandable. Professor Snape or McGonagall?"

"Snape. He has intrigue - but don't tell him I said so....my father would never let me live it down."

"Snape or Delacour?"

Fully expecting the Slytherin to choose the latter, Lowell was undeniably surprised when Draco said without much thought, "Snape."

"My, my, Draco, do we have an elementary crush on our Potions master?"

Smiling, Draco said, "Wherever did you get that idea? Actually, it's more that I don't enjoy veela very much. They're too moody, and if you catch them on a bad day, it takes weeks to find all of the feathers they've managed to get into places you weren't even aware you had on your body. But Snape will always be in a sour mood, and I like the predictibility." He winked slyly. "And I have it on good authority that he's a rather good lay, despite his greasy appearance. Delacour really doesn't do all that much for me."

"I see. Harry Potter or Lola Rosen?"

Draco, who had been sipping a silver chalice of something, spit into the fire in his surprise, and the flames flickered and hissed their disapproval. Then, he set the chalice onto the table, leaned forward on his knees, and clasped his hands.

"Of all the questions you could have asked me," muttered Draco, shaking his head slightly. His sleek blond hair slipped over his storming silver eyes, and Lowell reached out and brushed it aside without thinking.

"Is it really a difficult question?" asked Lowell softly.

Draco looked up at him and chuckled humorlessly. He stretched his arms wide, leaned back again, and sighed as he sank lower into the chair.

"No," he said finally. "No, not a difficult question....a difficult answer." 

"How's that?"

"I thought you were familiar with Hogwarts," teased Draco, "If you were, then you would know how in love with Potter I've always been."

"Hey, I may be invisible when I want to be, but that doesn't make me omniscient."

"Ha," said Draco dryly, but a faint smile lit his eyes. "So I've been in love with Potter since second year."

"And....?"

"_And_....now he has a girlfriend, this Lola character, with whom I assume you are familiar by the way you say her name, and he adores her. Just by the way he looks at her, I can tell he would fight a dozen Hungarian Horntails to be with her. But never once has he realized that_ I _would fight two dozen dragons for _him_. Never once has he realized that it absolutely kills me to see them together."

Helplessly, Lowell shrugged, his dark eyes a mix of concern and puzzlement.

"Draco, I still don't see where the conflict lies."

"Well, it should be obvious who I'd choose....but...."

"But what?"

"It seems even more obvious who I _will _choose."

Lowell smiled, tilting his head slightly to one side. "Perhaps it seems obvious who you would choose to _you_; but I'm still ten paces behind. If Voldemort destroyed the world, who would you choose as your life-mate?"

And the blond sighed again, but this was an angry breath, a frustrated and slightly disappointed breath. His answer came in a similarly harsh sigh, but his words were clear through his rush of breath: "_Lola_."


	9. The Vampire Lestat

@-'-,-'--

"_The Vampire Lestat_"

Draco was loitering in the corridor outside of Professor Snape's dungeon classroom, listening closely to the conversations which took place inside. Close to the door, as their voices were louder despite their whispers, Granger and Weasley and Potter were discussing the fate of Lola, who was further inside with Snape; the professor was reprimanding in word and dangerously gentle in tone, and Lola was (for the most part) silent.

And when Snape dismissed the girl, Weasley and Granger left the room, their hands intertwined in a sickeningly romantic gesture. In his irritation Draco felt a pang of jealousy, but a vision of Lowell filled his mind, putting him at ease once more. Following Weasley and Granger at a considerable distance for such close friends were Potter and Lola. Potter appeared a bit ruffled, and Lola was two steps ahead of him; Draco stifled a chuckle that the girl with which Potter was so smitten could possibly be less interested in him than Potter was in Draco himself.

Draco turned to watch the pairs walk down the corridor and disappear around the corner, and from behind him, in the doorway, a silken voice said in a sympathetic tone, "They disgust me, too."

Silver eyes narrowed, his arms folded more tightly over his chest as Draco asked, "Professor, does it ever get any better?"

Snape's elegant and thin hand came to rest on Draco's shoulder, and he smiled a mockingly sweet smile. "Wait until you leave Hogwarts - the surprises never cease to delight you." The professor sobered slightly. "But as for those four....you won't rid yourself of their kind. Always out to do good, always out to prove themselves more worthy than the rest of us." 

He frowned, creasing his paper-like skin. Draco turned to look at him in the silence, and was quite unsurprised to see Snape's hollow eyes darken with dislike. "But choose your battles wisely, Draco, or you'll end up where I am today, with every one of my enemies on my side of the battle." 

Snape removed his hand from Draco's shoulder, and it disappeared within the endless folds of his cloaks; Draco wanted very much to tell him everything, but something about the professor's manner stopped him from speaking. Snape looked down his hooked nose at Draco and his eyes softened somehow, stained with the shadows of a lifetime of regret.

"It gets lonely, fighting alongside one's enemies," he said; and before Draco could say anything Snape's thin hand resurfaced bearing a badly worn paperback volume. He handed this to Draco, and swept off to his office.

The book, only as long and as wide as Draco's hand, had a blood red cover, one corner of which was completely torn from the book. The lettering of the title was rapidly fading gold and raised, and Draco raised an eyebrow at the words; a memory surfaced in his mind, in which the dark and handsome young man had been stretched out on Draco's four-poster reading an identical book, a muggle novel called _The Vampire Lestat_.

Draco peeled the decaying cover from the book and looked at the name scrawled in the unripped corner, and a wave of nausea disbelief rushed over him, because the looping, distinctly feminine handwriting clearly read _Lola Rosen_ in its harsh black ink.

@-'-,-'--

Family Weekend at Hogwarts was an event much celebrated by professors and much resented by students. Hogsmeade was canceled for the weekend, unless parents wished to take their children for the afternoon, Quidditch games were rescheduled, dormitories and common rooms and classrooms were scoured until they shone. Many students agreed that the single positive element of the weekend was the absence of homework. 

But Draco rather enjoyed Family Weekend at Hogwarts. His father loathed the school with all of his worth, and he avoided the castle as often as was possible. This year, as his most recent owl had stated, he had been called into the Ministry, and it was virtually impossible for him to attend.

Instead of being annoyed, saddened, or upset by his lack of parental company, Draco was thrilled. He spent the time alone, on his bed reading the battered copy of _The Vampire Lestat_ he had inherited (which, having been quite unsure of what to do with it, he had kept it and read it over and over, until its pages were further smudged and torn and frayed), or practicing his Quidditch maneuvers on his Firebolt II (given him for an early Easter by his mother), or strolling aimlessly about the grounds, breathing in the balmy spring air and faint scent of blossoms from Professor Sprout's greenhouses. 

Today, Sunday, Draco was relieved that the parents of his classmates would be gone before the sun had risen the next morning. Tonight, he would attend the feast in honor of the Weekend, and Dumbledore would speak to flatter the parents - but not one of the adults seated at the Slytherin table this evening would be remotely impressed; they would murmur comments to one another and to their children while the old man spoke.

Trying to forget the feast, Draco left the dungeons below the castle and wandered through the classroom-lined corridors of the third and fourth floors. His footsteps echoed mutely against the stone walls, high and arched ceilings, tall windows.

And as he walked past Professor Flitwick's classroom, Draco's ear caught a trickle of conversation. He hesitated, straining to hear through the door; he retraced his steps until he was directly in front of the room, directly in front of the door, and he listened.

"....you understand. But nowadays, we - the professors - are under careful instruction to prepare out students not only for their every day lives, but also in the hard times life will present to them," the tiny voice of Flitwick said. "It's an ever-present battle, however, to ignore the evil present in even our student body today."

"Well, life certainly has changed, Professor," another voice said. A warm, velvet voice. A dark and wonderfully rich, comfortable voice. Something in Draco whispered _Lowell, _and he shivered.

"Yes, Maurice, yes, it has," chirped Flitwick sorrowfully. "Oh, but enough of all this. Where is your family, then?"

"I don't quite know, Professor. I imagine Lola is back in the common room, but I haven't a clue."

"Let's go find her, then, shall we?"

Draco ducked behind a suit of armor just as Flitwick pulled the classroom door open. Then, followed by Lowell, he trotted down the corridor, away from Draco, and their voices echoed throughout the entire fourth floor.

Climbing from behind the armor, Draco was devastated. He felt lost; and it made Draco wonder if he really knew Lowell as well as he had thought.

@-'-,-'--

Lowell came into the Slytherin common room, singing under his breath. He swept up to the fire, to the chair over which Draco had draped himself, and dropped a familiar kiss on Draco's pale lips. Then he fell back into an adjacent chair, smiling, and looked at Draco.

"What are we doing today, love?" he said cheerfully, propping up his feet on a nearby marble table. "Reading a bit of poetry? Chess?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively, leaning closer to the blond, and said in a husky undertone, "I could go for a bit of a snog right now."

But when Draco finally did look at Lowell, his eyes were crackling and hard. He frowned as he said, "Lowell, who are you?"

Lowell looked quite taken aback, but forced a smile and said, "What kind of joke question is that? I'm Lowell. Tall, dark, and handsome Lowell....your beloved, your comrade, your ultimate post-apocalyptic life-mate." The last he said with a jaunty grin, but the steel expression on Draco's face was not lifted.

"I haven't heard you speak of a family beyond this sister, whom you trust immensely. I haven't a clue what your surname is, I don't know what year you are, what house you're in, what pets you own - Lowell, I know nothing about you, but I have the sinking suspicion that what you haven't told me might be because you're embarrassed or afraid or...I don't know....but, damn it, I heard you speaking with Professor Flitwick this weekend, and he called you Maurice." His eyes, stormy and silver, sparked. "Unless you tell me who you really are, I'll have to ask you to leave."

This request seemed to torture the blond so; Lowell sighed heavily, aching for the pained expression on Draco's face, and he said, "All right. My name is Lowell Rosen. The sister I am so very fond of is Lola; and I never wanted to lie to you, Draco. I very nearly love you; why should I hurt you?"

"Is that all? No more secrets that would shock or appall me?"

Lowell smiled warmly, reaching over the arm of their chairs and taking Draco's hand in his own. His callused skin brushed gently over Draco's ivory flesh, and his dark eyes were pleading with Draco to forgive and forget.

"No more secrets," he said. "Now, what say you to a game of chess?"

"I say," declared Draco, taking back his hand and leaning for the chessmen and board, "I'll beat you, and then I'll teach you how to really apologize to Draco Malfoy." Lowell grinned.

Despite Draco's obvious skill in leading his class figures to attack, Lowell's counter-attack proved quite as skillful. Every move Draco made to destroy the solid granite king was thwarted by a castle, a knight, a bishop; even when Lowell's queen had been taken, he was only one step behind the blond.

After nearly an hour of play, however, Lowell's defense was wearing thin. His moves consumed more and more time for his thinking, and he was leaning to his right, one hand propped on his left knee while he combed his broad fingers through his hair with the other.

"Check," said Draco, dropping his own glass queen into place near the granite king. Lowell let out a primal grunt, and studied the board carefully. "Well, I dare you to try and beat this, Mr Rosen. Let's just see you get yourself out of this one."

Draco grinned across at Lowell, who was running a hand through his curls in what had rapidly become a habit. And then, slowly, Lowell's long features melted slightly, and his skin became more porcelain, his eyes somewhat more round; his lashes lengthened, his cheekbones raised, the hand presently stroking a now-delicate chin grew slender and smooth and soft, and his curls seemed to uncurl, almost, and fall from a twist at his neck that had not been there before, dropping with an empty sound on the green velvet of the seat - Draco gasped and gazed at him with a fair amount of surprise as the darker entity grew rapidly thinner at the shoulders and waist, and small breasts sprouted below the white dress shirt. And then Draco realized that he was no longer gazing at Lowell Rosen, but at Lola Rosen, and everything became clear to him as though a bolt of lightening had shot down from the heavens upon him; Lola was gazing at him with shame and fear and remorse, and tears formed in the corners of her eyes, misted over those endlessly deep orbs of molten coal, and began to trickle down her cheeks and splash onto the shirt.

"Draco - " Her voice was broken, and Draco was on his feet, with his chair between himself and Lola; he was shaking, and she choked out again, "Draco!" He stumbled backwards, and there were two chairs between them, and she was on her feet, as well, but not moving from before her chair.

"Don't move!" he cried, a swelling sickness in his stomach preventing him from doing much else, and he cried again, "Don't move from that spot!"

"But, Draco," she said, her voice much calmer than a moment earlier, "please, listen to me. I can explain!"

Venomously, Draco said, "No need for that, _Lowell." _His eyes narrowed with malice, and he continued, "I think I know perfectly well what's going on here. I know that you lied to me, even when you swore that you would lie no more; and I know that I have been betrayed here, today, at this very moment; and I know that you have been deceiving Harry Potter, as well - and he will not be as understanding as I!"

"But, I....Harry...." She held her hands, unable to form a coherent statement, and said at last, "I didn't mean for this to happen!"

"I should hope not," said Draco quietly, dangerously in a way only Professor Snape's voice was dangerous, "I should very well hope not."

And there was a long and uncomfortable moment of silence, while Lola begged forgiveness with her large and liquid eyes, and Draco shook his head in disbelief and humiliation and shock.

"Get out of my common room," he whispered, looking at her finally. "Get out of my life."

With a numb dip of her trembling chin, Lola crossed the common room, her slender arms folded over her belly protectively, and she disappeared through the dark, damp passage which lead into the corridor outside. Only when Draco heard the grating of the stone door sliding shut behind the girl did he sink to the floor, the back of one green velvet armchair holding him upright, and allow the tears of deception spring from his pale eyes, and he wept for his own naiveté.


	10. Truce?

@-'-,-'--

- Book Three - Harry -

"Truce?"

"She isn't eating, Harry," whispered Hermione, the concern glittering in her words. "Talk to her - find out what's going on." 

Helplessly, Harry looked to Ron for support as he stammered desperately, "But can't you talk to her? I mean, she barely talks to me anyway, and you want me to find out what's wrong when she's this upset? It's impossible, a kamikaze mission." But Ron just shook his head and repeated firmly that Hermione had already tried to talk Lola out of the gloom she had sunk into.

"After supper," said Hermione when Harry had finally conceded. "You'll take her into the library and ask her what's wrong, and be there for her if she breaks down, if she cries. Be someone she can lean on."

Harry watched as Hermione and Ron left the common room, Ron's arm slung over Hermione's shoulders and Hermione's hand resting at the small of Ron's back. He wanted very much to have Lola open up to him, to have her in his arms as she told him everything that troubled her, but a small, bitter voice in the back of his mind reminded him harshly that Lola was closer to Hermione and Ron than she was to him, and he sighed, defeated by himself.

Somehow, despite the minute probability that he would be able to find the root of Lola's misery, Harry found himself in the Great Hall for supper, rehearsing the conversation he would have with Lola within the hour. 

Barely half and hour after the meal had begun, Lola rose from her seat and excused herself; Harry was far from finished eating, but was encouraged to follow by a sharp elbow in the ribs from Hermione, and he excused himself as Lola slipped out of the Hall. Had he been paying attention as he left the Hall, he might have noticed the relief which flooded Professor Rosen's long features and wide eyes, and the pained restraint lying open in the pale eyes of Draco Malfoy.

@-'-,-'--

Harry caught up with Lola at the top of the first flight of marble stairs in the entrance hall. He grabbed hold of her elbow, spinning her around to face him, and, in the process, into him. She lashed out against him, struggling to tear her arms from his hands, and the tears were streaming down her face in rivulets, her hair clinging to the dampness on her cheeks.

"Let me go," she cried through clenched teeth. "Let me go! I won't let you - "

"Let me what, Lola?" Harry asked, strained. He forced her into a hug, crushing her arms and breasts against his chest and grinding her hips against his. "Let me help you?"

"Let _go_!"

And Harry's hand was pressing into her hair, pushing her chin to his shoulder, and he murmured reassurances and sympathetic words to her. In a moment, she collapsed against him, sobbing, and crumbled to him.

He led her to a corner and leaned against the wall, sinking to the floor, with her between his outstretched legs, her back pressed to his stomach and chest. He held her hands, brushed her hair from her eyes and mouth, and kissed her softly.

"Don't do this to yourself," he was whispering, "don't ruin yourself, your friendships, because you're too stubborn to tell us all what's the matter with you. Don't curl yourself up and forget that we want to help you - do you know how much it's killing us to see you like this?" Lola gave a great, silent, shuddering sob. "You're nothing but skin and bones, you look as though everywhere you look you see a ghost, and your grades are falling."

"M-my grades?" she said, her teeth chattering in her skull, "t-they f-fall when I f-fall..." And she gave a low bout of laughter, madness seared into her tongue. "We all f-fall d-down, don't we?"

"Yes," said Harry slowly. "Stop falling, Lola." 

She sobered, relaxing into his arms, and let out a long sigh. It was a very long and tense moment for Harry before anything happened, and then the doors of the Great Hall opened with a hollow thunk of heavy wood hitting thick stone, students began to pour into the entrance hall and then scatter down corridors. A number of students stumbled past Harry and Lola, unaware of their presence, until the masses thinned, and a stretched shadow fell over them.

Harry's eyes trailed up from the marble floor to expensive leather shoes, to cuffed, creased grey trousers, to black school robes and a grey turtleneck sweater, to the pale and pointed face of Draco Malfoy, who was peering down his nose at Harry with a threatening air of peace lingering about his figure. Lola had frozen, only moving with each shuddering breath, and Malfoy shifted his weight from his right leg to his left.

"Hello, Harry," he said amiably. Around Lola, Harry's arms tightened, and he gazed levelly at the blond standing before him, silhouetted in the light from the Great Hall at the bottom of the stairs. 

"Malfoy," replied Harry with a cold nod of his head. Malfoy was smiling, his pale gaze never once leaving Harry's face but for once, when he glanced down at the mess of a girl in Harry's embrace.

"Listen, Harry," said Malfoy after a moment, "do you think we could possibly have a word together....in private?" Harry shook his head and made a pointed glance downwards. Lola seemed to sense this, and pushed herself closer to him. "Very well, then. I've come to offer up peace between us."

"What?" said Harry.

"Peace," repeated Malfoy, a bit more loudly than before, and he added, "I'm through fighting with you." His words were slow and separated, but their sincerity was true. With a winning smile, Malfoy asked with an innocence Harry had not seen since their first meeting in Diagon Alley seven years ago, "Truce?"

And Harry, feeling a tremor from Lola, ignored all better judgement, and said, "Truce," and Malfoy's hand was stuck under Harry's nose, and they shook on it, sealing a pact between them.

@-'-,-'--

"So," said Harry casually, while walking through Hogsmeade's high street with Lola on his arm and Hermione and Ron at his side, "Draco asked me to play a bout of chess with him tonight in the library."

"Draco?" said Ron blankly, looking at Hermione, who shrugged with a half-smile lighting her lips. "Draco who?"

"Malfoy, silly," said Hermione, throwing a playful punch into the redhead's shoulder. Ron laughed and kissed her, muttering, "How many Dracos do we know, Hermione? Of _course _Malfoy..."

Lola stopped Harry, however, and looked at him carefully. "You aren't going to go with him, are you?" she asked carefully. He shrugged, threading his fingers through hers and drawing closer.

"Maybe," he admitted. Since Lola had broken on the stairs, they had been closer than before, but Harry had not been aware of this rivalry between Malfoy and Lola before. "He took the time to make a truce with me, Lola. I can't just disrespect that out of pure spite of him, can I?"

"Well," she said carefully, "I'm not you." 

"When did he ask you to meet him, Harry?" asked Hermione curiously, and they walked slowly past the Three Broomsticks.

"Seven-thirty."

"Ooo, he asked you to meet him in essentially broad daylight?" said Ron in mock suspicion. "He's willing to risk being seen by other people with a Gryffindor? Er, not just any Gryffindor, either, might I add - with Harry Potter?" He frowned, his mouth stretching downward and making him look like a sort of red-haired frog. "I don't know, Harry, sounds dangerous. Perhaps you should stay in the common room tonight, instead."

Harry rolled his eyes and let Hermione reprimand him, but he was more concerned with Lola's nervous whisper of, "I don't like this, Harry; I don't think you should be going..."

Not really caring that he'd stopped in the middle of the road, Harry put his hands on Lola's arms and looked at her with genuine concern, and she stared him back stubbornly.

"Do you really want me to stay in tonight?" Lola nodded, and Harry nodded once, saying, "Then I'll stay in." And he kissed her tentatively, his hands only moving from her arms when she responded to the kiss, and he wrapped his cloak around them both and savored the taste of her lips under his own.

Neither of them noticed that Hermione and Ron kept walking, because neither of them particularly cared; they were wrapped around each other, and Harry licked her lower lip gently. She tasted like coffee, or ice cream - something sweet and familiar but undeniably new and exciting. And when she licked back, he was elated, and he leaned into her, feeling her hands on his back, her hips pushed against his stomach and her back arched, her breath tickling his lip.

He lifted his lips from hers long enough to whisper, "I'll stay in," and then melted into her again.


	11. The Glass Pieces

@-'-,-'--

"The Glass Pieces"

It was late, and the castle had scarcely begun to creak. Harry woke with a start just as he had drifted into the fragile confines of slumber. Something was pulling him from his slumber, something was not right with his world. He had forgotten something.

Slipping from his bed in silence, he pulled his robe on over his pajamas, and he crept across the room and slid through the door so as not to wake Ron, or Seamus or Neville or Dean. The flagstone steps were cold under his bare feet, and soon he could barely feel his toes, but he crept on while the silence pressed in around him.

He all but tiptoed into the common room, where, to his surprise, he found the fire roaring gleefully in the grate and a plush red armchair pulled up to a heavy cherrywood table; sitting in the chair, gazing intently down upon an elegant chessboard, was the pale and slender figure of Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was leaning forward slightly, his hair immaculate, dressed as though he was planning to spend the evening on the town. His shoes, shined till they shone and reflected as well as any mirror; his trousers pressed neatly, black and expensive looking; his t-shirt, black, and stretched tightly across his chest and abdomen, showing off months of Quidditch training and private fencing lessons. And, perched on his fair nose, he was wearing a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, which made him appear altogether more intellectual and scholarly. The specs rather suited him, Harry thought.

"It's well after midnight," whispered Harry, glancing around nervously as he drew closer. "It's after hours....you aren't supposed to be in here at all, you know. You aren't a Gryffindor - how did you get the password? Get past the Fat Lady in her portrait?"

With a smile that sparkled, Draco Malfoy rose with all the grace of a deity and bowed slightly to Harry in his old robe and bare feet, and he said, "Nice to see you, too, Harry." When Harry stopped moving, and there was a long and slightly awkward pause, Malfoy did not seem to notice, and he asked pleasantly, "Won't you sit down and indulge me in just one game?"

Harry took the seat opposite Malfoy, and his gaze dropped to the board. Each piece seemed to have been carved by a miniature hand, the details were so precise and delicate. On Malfoy's side of the board, the chessmen were glass, and Harry could see the checkered pattern on the other side with no effort; on his own side, black granite flecked with smokey grey.

"Your move first?" offered the blond, "or shall I?"

Numbly, Harry moved a pawn without much thought, but as soon as Malfoy was sweeping his men toward him in what seemed an intricate and perfect plan, his concentration deepened. Soon they were both sweating out the match, and Malfoy complimented him on his skill; Harry was surprised he was holding up as well as he was - maybe the years of battling the Weasleys had finally done him some good. Or, in his hope of becoming Harry's friend, Malfoy was cheating in Harry's favor. He suspected the latter, but soon the thought was lost in his struggle to force the glass king into surrender.

And when he had finally driven Malfoy to the breaking point, and the blond glanced at him with admiration and respect, saying, "Checkmate. Well done, Potter, I knew you had it in you."

Suddenly Harry remembered why he was out of bed to begin with, and why he had come down to the common room, and he looked up at the mantel above the hearth and saw a thick textbook - his Charms text - and he got to his feet quickly, tugging at one side of his robe.

"I've got to get back to bed," he said, "You should leave. You shouldn't be here at all, but - "

Draco held a thin finger to his own lips, a smile resting behind it, and whispered, "Take your book and go, Harry. I can get myself back to my dungeon safely, after all." Harry nodded, grabbed the text from the mantelpiece, and stumbled backwards in his haste to be away from Malfoy. The fire glanced off of Malfoy's specs, and he smiled at Harry's clumsiness, adding, "Goodnight, Mr Potter."

@-'-,-'--

Nearly a week had slipped by without insult or injury from Malfoy, and Harry was beginning to feel a bit perturbed by it. Ron had questioned it at first, but seeing Lola's tearfully venomous reaction, he soon learned to simply enjoy the respite. 

"The eye of the storm is the eye of the storm," he said with a shrug, and he promptly drained the tankard of butterbeer he and a few other Gryffindor boys had nipped from the kitchens. "I'm not going to be the one who argues with the tempest. That's bad show."

Hermione agreed fully, and had questioned Lola but refused to press the matter considering the state Lola was in. The fifth year simply refused to divulge any information whatsoever, and Hermione was nearly driven to her wits' end.

"It's blatantly obvious," she said in an undertone while stirring her cauldron in Potions one Tuesday afternoon, "that Lola has had some sort of relationship with Draco that we don't know about. It must have ended badly, or she wouldn't be so distraught. She's reaching out to you for help, Harry."

"But what can I do," mumbled Harry into the frothing Veritaserum in its beginning, brilliantly pink stages. 

"I dunno, mate, but I say roll with the punches," whispered Ron with a suggestive smile. "Perhaps in her weakened state she'd let you touch her - "

A swift, sharp elbow in his ribs knocked the rest of the sentence from Ron's mouth, and he spent the remainder of the lesson in silence, rubbing his side and wincing whenever Hermione came close enough to throw a punch.

"Hermione," said Harry, "I don't know about girls. I mean, I don't know what to say when she's like this. It's damn near impossible to - "

"Mr Potter," barked Professor Snape, sweeping past a trembling Neville Longbottom, "Your serum is much too thick." He tossed a handful of something from his robes into Harry's cauldron, and added, "It might behoove you to pay attention rather than discuss your social life with Miss Granger. Five points from Gryffindor."

Hermione looked at Harry sympathetically as he scrambled to achieve the proper consistency in his cauldron while Snape glared down his hooked nose at them, his arms folded over his chest and into his robes.

"Professor!" called a voice from the opposite end of the smokey dungeon. Harry, Hermione, and Ron turned in disbelief as Malfoy called the professor again. Snape glared again at Harry before gliding over to Malfoy's cauldron. The blond boy paused mid-sentence to wink over his shoulder at Harry, who felt the back of his neck flush and sank lower into his stool. 

"All right," muttered Ron while tossing a handful of ground dragon scales into his cauldron, "that settles it. We've been taken into an alternate universe." Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow, but before she could argue his statement, he added, "Or Malfoy wants something from one of us. Funny, I didn't think there was anything a Malfoy could possibly want that his Daddy couldn't scrounge up by striking some deal with dear Uncle Voldy."

Ron's comment was met by another swift prod in the ribs by Hermione, and Harry murmured, "Don't judge people by their families, Ron....Look where if got you two to begin with." 

"Quite right," said Ron, and Hermione reminded them both to toss in a bit of mummified lion's heart before their potions boiled too quickly. Harry glanced at Malfoy, who winked again at him, and sighed heavily; despite the fun of chess, it was very obvious that the only reason Harry wanted to spend time with him was in some vain hope that Malfoy's silver charm might rub off on him and Lola would want to spend time with him when she wasn't in emotional shambles.

@-'-,-'--

It was another dull day in History of Magic when the doors of the lecture hall swung open with Binns mid-sentence, and Draco Malfoy swept in gracefully and excused himself profusely. Once Binns had been convinced that Malfoy was a reasonable interruption, Malfoy's silver eyes caught Harry's green and held while he told the professor that McGonagall had requested Harry's presence immediately.

"When will he be coming back?" asked Binns, peering through his already transparent spectacles at the blond boy.

"Professor McGonagall was most unsure," he said vaguely. "It's about the Quidditch House Cup, you see, and she wanted to discuss with him - " A furtive glance around the room for effect, and Malfoy continued, "Well, in any case, she was unsure of whether or not Harry would be able to return at all, as planning for Quidditch matches takes some time."

Binns took a moment to think about this, and while he did, Ron leaned over to Harry and whispered, "What's all this about, Harry? I didn't know McGonagall was calling you down today."

"Neither did I," replied Harry, as Binns reluctantly let Malfoy lead Harry from the room.

The corridors seemed oddly empty. Every footfall echoed hollowly against the stone walls and floors, and Malfoy took Harry to the end of the corridor and up a flight of marble stairs.

"Isn't McGonagall's office in the other direction, Malfoy?" asked Harry. The blond grinned, and swept his hair from his sparkling silver eyes.

"It doesn't really matter, Harry. We aren't going to her office." Harry stopped walking with a jerk.

"What?"

Malfoy came to a hesitant halt, turning to face Harry, and put a hand on either of the dark-haired boy's shoulders as Harry gaped in disbelief.

"Now, now, dear boy," he said. "I should be in Latin right now, but am I?" Not waiting for an answer, he pressed on, "Of course not - I'm in the lavatory. Or, at least, that's what Professor Teague believes, and that is what matters. So we now have twenty minutes to spend until I have to get back to class, or they might send a search party out to find me." He released Harry's shoulders and continued on down the corridor, openly admiring the marble sculptures of winged demigods rivaling Michelangelo's David, but with a smattering of cloth to cover places inappropriate for a school.

When Harry finally followed, Malfoy smiled maliciously. "What shall we do now, Mr Potter? We could play a bout of chess." Harry nodded numbly, and allowed himself to be steered into an empty classroom, where Malfoy produced his chessboard from what seemed to be thin air.

"Could I be the glass pieces this time, Malfoy?"

"Call me Draco, Harry, and you can have whatever you want from me."

Ignoring the suggestive tone of Malfoy's voice, Harry reached to turn the board. Malfoy's pale hands caught Harry's wrists and held, and he looked at Harry with expectance and hope.

"Call me Draco," he repeated, "and you can have whatever you want."

Jerking away, Harry said, "Draco, may I have the glass pieces today?"

Satisfied, Malfoy spun the board so that the two lines of granite men sat beneath his silver gaze, and he smiled broadly, nearly giggling under his breath.

"What's funny?"

"Lowell never asked to be the glass pieces," Malfoy murmured absently through a smile, moving a pawn onto the board. "Your go."


	12. Two Velvet Drawstring Bags

@-'-,-'—

This is an incredibly short chapter. Sorry. *evil grin*Ha, no I'm not. I just like seeing you squirm.

"Two Velvet Drawstring Bags"

"Who is Lowell?" Harry asked politely, pushing his queen-side castle into a square formerly occupied by Draco's black granite bishop. A look of mild surprise flashed in the blond's pale face but dissipated immediately, and he stretched back against the limestone window frame.

They were sitting on the fat limestone windowsill of a seventh-floor corridor, deserted for all practical purposes, each straddling the sill with the chessboard between them. The windows had been flung open, and a warm spring breeze fluttered their hair and tugged at their clothes; but their school robes had been discarded and lay on the floor of the corridor inside and they were quite content with the late morning sunlight painting shadows on their faces and walls. 

Without regard to his pieces, Draco asked, "Lowell? Why do you ask about him?"

Harry shrugged, his emerald gaze drifting deliberately onto the grounds below them, onto the sloping lawns and geometric gardens and shadowed forest beyond. There was a bit of a silence between them, until Harry replied, "You mentioned, once, that Lowell had never asked for the glass chessmen. But you never said who Lowell was, or how you knew him." Draco said nothing. "Was he a family friend?" Harry asked. "You knew him through your father?"

There was not a trace of thought in his voice as Draco said, "My father had some influence on my meeting Lowell. But he was no family friend." He grinned, shaking his hair from his eyes, and added, "Lowell, that is, not my father."

"Of course," said Harry. 

They were enveloped in silence for a long moment more, while the glass and granite men crossed the board in a ballet of wit and skill. And suddenly, Draco's knight cornered Harry's sparkling king, and the game was ended. But instead of setting up the pieces for another bout, Draco folded the board and carefully replaced the pieces into two velvet drawstring bags, one silver and one black, and tucked it all underneath his robes on the floor. 

"You played chess with him?"

"Hm?" said Draco, looking at him with a cocked eyebrow. "Played chess with who? Lowell?" Harry nodded, and Draco sighed. "What is this to you, Harry? What does it matter who Lowell was?"

"It doesn't," Harry said stubbornly. "I'm just curious. Obviously he was important, or you wouldn't have even mentioned him to begin with, let alone as though you regret something having to do with him. So who was he?"

"He was a friend," Draco glared across the sill at Harry, "who I used to play chess with. And then I found out that he lied to me in a very major way." 

"How did he lie to you?" 

The blond sighed brusquely, running a hand through his hair, and restlessly leaned against the stone frame of the window, his forearm keeping the sun from his eyes and casting a shadow across his face.

"You ask too many questions, Harry."

"You don't have to answer them if you don't want to," he said, and he used his hands as a pillow behind his head as he fell back against the frame of the window, his elbows sticking out on either side.

"Yes," sighed Draco, looking sidelong at Harry. "Yes, I do. I owe it to you. I owe it to myself, or to Lowell, maybe." He looked at Harry, and his eyes were wide and utterly miserable as he said, "Lowell disappeared, Harry. He became invisible to me some time ago."


	13. A Million Crystalline Shards

@-'-,-'--

- Book Four - Swan Song -

"A Million Crystalline Shards"

The seventh years were gone, now. It was June, and they had been given an early dismissal; Dumbledore had given them the afternoon to wander Hogsmeade, while the other students said their good-byes and exchanged end-of-term gifts. 

Lola was a perfect parcel of misery, standing in a small grove of birch trees on a grassy knoll overlooking the lake. She hugged her arms, her head resting against the paper-like bark of the nearest birch tree. Somewhere past the castle, sounds of a lawn party erupted, squeals from girls and happy shouts from boys. Lola sighed.

She already missed Harry dreadfully. She missed his thick fingers threaded through hers, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her when she cried. And she missed Ron's antics, and Hermione's bright smile. 

But try as she might to keep her mind from Draco, she found that she couldn't seem to. Images of his sleek blond hair shining in the sunlight from a dungeon window, of his ivory skin in candlelight, haunted her; the taste of his flesh echoed through her throat, and her heart ached.

She told herself she was a fool for caring, that she was an idiot for getting involved to begin with; but somehow she couldn't exactly put it out of her mind that she had not been wrong in the least for wanting to be near him. Wasn't Draco known to get his way by any means? Wasn't Draco famous for his extreme devices? Why was she any different than this conniving Draco she had come to know and love?

It very nearly shocked Lola to realize that everything she knew about Draco was that which Draco had shared with Lowell, and she had the unsettling feeling that whatever Draco had told Lowell had been for Lowell to know only. There, in her mind, seemed to be a very real difference between Lowell and Lola.

Lola shivered, and she realized that the sun was rapidly sinking beneath the treetops. Hugging herself, she backed away from the birch grove, and made her way in silence to the Great Hall for supper.

@-'-,-'--

She wandered the halls by moonlight, refusing to light her wand, and struggled to keep her chin up and her lip from quivering; in the end all she managed were a few of Maurice's ditties sung in a low, watery voice, and several hours to herself in the upper corridors of the castle.

It was when she reached one especially silent corridor on the seventh floor that she was unable to keep from crying; for in the very corner, between the fat limestone window ledge and the wall, carelessly left on the dusty floor, something caught in the silver moonlight. She meant to take no notice of it, as it seemed, at first, to be simply a bit of gold paper from a Chocolate Frog, or a silver box of Ice Mice. She could have just turned around and left.

But she had nothing to do tonight; no one to see, or anyone at all to miss her, and she leaned down and took up the shining piece from the floor. As soon as her fingers wrapped around it, she knew what it was, and should have dropped it at that moment; but her palm enveloped it, and she brought it into a strong beam of moonlight to have a look at it.

Not light and papery, as she had imagined, but heavy and solid, the empty eyes of a glass horse stared at her; it was a chessmen, a knight, and it was Draco's. Instead of her own fingers cradling it, she imagined Draco's ivory flesh. But as soon as she realized what self-destructive thoughts were pounding through her head, she turned her hand on its side, and the glass piece plummeted to the floor, shattering into a million crystalline shards.

In the empty depths of the corridor, the sound the piece made when it hit the floor was deafening, and Lola winced; tears filled her eyes, and she stepped back considerably. She felt ill, and quite suddenly she longed for the warmth of her bedclothes and generous four-poster. 

At first, when she lit out, she was running somewhat backwards, gazing back over her shoulder toward the broken glass, which presently sparkled temptingly in the light which fell through the window; but as she rounded a corner, she turned around, however vain the effort for the tears which clouded her eyes. 

And when at last she _did _stop, it was not of her own accord; she rounded another corner and found herself on the ground, tangled in the limbs of an oncoming passerby.


	14. A Tangle of Limbs

@-'-,-'--

"A Tangle of Limbs"

In reflection of his upcoming graduation, Draco left his fellow seventh-year Slytherins to their celebrating in the common room, which was packed which underclassmen in search of a beaker full of champagne, which the graduating class was passing out without much disgression. Having been taught at an early eage not to drink from another Slytherin's open bottle, Draco had excused himself early in the evening, extinguishing any possibility of his own undoing just hours before he was free of this controling institution -- and its restricting school robes, which he himself had shed just before the party had begun.

The dungeons were confining; the classroom corridors claustrophobic; dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt, Draco found the upper battlements of the castle much more intriguing and beautiful in the moonlight, when the pewter sliver of a crescant moon cast odd shadows on the faces of the limestone gargoyles and grotesques littering the battlements. Especially gruesome where those guarding the North walkway, where a certain serpentine grotesque had caught his attention nearly four years ago on a night just as this.

But even in the open air of the night, Draco was restless. He needed to be in a more protected area -- protected from his thoughts of the future. What he needed at this point, he decided as he wandered down a spiraling staircase at one end of the battlements, was a casual down Memory Lane, a walk through his most recent past at Hogwarts.

So Draco made his way down to the seventh-floor corridors, where he and Harry had spent a great deal of time in the weeks just past. The windowsill where he and Harry had played chess called from his memory, and there he went.

Most surprised was he to find perfect shards of glass littering the floor; he knelt close and reached out to the largest piece, the pads of his fingers brushing the bit of glassy dust coating the morter. He sat back on his heels; he reached into the pocket of his jeans and drew out his wand, muttering a spell to reconstruct the glass to its form prior to being shattered.

To his surprise, one of his chessmen -- the knight -- one he had been missing for some time now -- formed in the palm of his hand. He got to his feet uncertainly. How long had the knight been broken, and who had been here to find and destroy it? Had it been done on purpose -- or was it merely a slip of the hand of an underclassman, inexperienced in the Mending Charm which Draco had just used?

Draco slipped the glass piece into his pocket and murmured another spell; this time, a smokey scene played out before him. A tall girl coming across the piece, picking it up, and dropping it suddenly, as though a spark had gone off beneath her hand, drifted in an eerie ballet in front of his pale eyes. Then, in his mind, a husky voice echoed the words, "Not two hours ago," into his ear, and he shivered.

Without thinking, Draco shoved a hand into the collar of his shirt, pulling out a tiny silver hourglass; and he turned it over twice in his hand, closing his eyes. For a moment, the corridor was a blur, but soon enough it sorted itself out. On the floor in the corner was the small glass chessman. 

For a moment he simply stood there, contemplating his next move, until the sound of distinctly feminine footsteps echoed off from around the corner. Draco ducked into the shadows of the closest doorway, and he watched.

He watched the girl, tall and slender, with a long cascade of curls rolling down her back, pause in the light of the moon. She was very beautiful in a sad and meloncholy sort of way; the sadness was evident in the way she looked out the window, but perhaps a bit amplified in the melodramatic light.

The girl leaned down the pick up the piece, and she held it in her long fingers for a long moment. And then -- quite suddenly -- she seemed to cringe, and the piece hit the floor with a deafening echo down the corridor. The girl winced again, and backed up, slowly. She began to run, and Draco dared not breathe until she was out of sight and around the corner.

In an attempt to cut her off, he lit off for a tiny stairway nearby, which took him down two flights. From there he dodged across a narrow corridor and hopped through a portrait hole in the wall, and he found himself standing at the foot of a great flight of stairs. 

Not wasting a moment, Draco leapt around a corner to press on, when he found himself bowled over on the floor, tangled up in a mess of limbs.

@-'-,-'--

It took Lola a moment to realize who exactly she was tangled up in; but the other entity groaned and shifted slightly, and she gasped quite loudly and tried to back away in a hurry. However, because one of her legs was wrapped around the waist of the other, she found that she could not move until he sat up and untied his arm from her ankle. She was trembling all over when, at long last, he sat up properly and looked at her, blinking his eyes owlishly but not making any effort to disentangle himself.

"Oh, Lola, good show I've found you." He smiled, a flash of silver teeth in the shadows, and she melted ever so slightly. He took great care to brush his fringe from his eyes, and he made a show of brushing himself off; but dispite her constant squirms of protest, he did not try to free himself from her legs.

"If you don't mind," she said impatiently after a production of his testing his fingers to be sure none were broken. He looked up at her and blinked again, this time cocking an eyebrow laughingly and only spreading a very thin smile.

"No, actually, I don't mind." He tested his other hand for broken fingers, and then added in a murmur, "I don't mind at all." 

She watched as he held up a hand to his face and waggled all his fingers at once, turned it over so he palm was facing her, and did the same. Fully satisfied, now, he looked down at the great tangle of limbs below his shoulders and sighed.

"Ah, another mess, eh? Well," he said, wiggling his toes inside his shoe now, "in a moment I shall see to that at once. But _now_, I must be sure you are not at all hurt." He looked at her expectantly, and when she did not speak, he asked, "You _are _all right, aren't you? There's no need for me to call Madam Pomfrey down here this instant?"

"None at all," she huffed, crossing her arms. She squirmed again, this time making sure to dig into his ribs with her heel. He shot away, but only succeeded in tangling them up further by doing so. He looked at her and grinned, leaning close. 

"Why, if I didn't know any better, I would say that you didn't like being caught up around me like this."

She scowled, glaring at him, and said, "Will you just get yourself off of me?" so irritibly that he opened his eyes wide and grinned again.

"My, my, my," he sighed. "Why do you hate me so?"

"If I didn't hate you, Malfoy, I'd have to _like _you, and God only knows where _that _would get me!"

"Why is liking me such a crime?" he said, very softly and very curiously. It made her even more nervous the way he crept closer without seeming to move at all; and she shrugged, looking away. "Lola, I'm sorry." 

Wanting to come back with something terribly witty and venomous, she kept silent a moment, and when she had finally got something, she looked at him with angry eyes; but all thoughts were quickly wiped from her mind when he had his hand at the nape of her neck and his lips touching hers in a whispering kiss.

He pulled away much too soon, and said, with an odd little smile on his face, "But it's too late to be sorry, isn't it? Lola, look -- " He pressed his hand against the palm of hers; it took a moment for her to realize that there was something more in his hand than just his flesh, but she was looking into his eyes so closely that it didn't really matter. "Look, don't get regretful about all this, please -- the worst you could do would be to regret any of it -- but, please, just remember that you were never really invisible to me." 

Lola melted even further into the floor, into Draco's arm, and he kissed her again, this time with more ardor and less apology; before she could gather her wits about her, he was gone again, and she was untangled from his limbs and holding a small chessman in her hand, a glass knight with the initials DLM carved into the bottom with a tiny rose beside them.

@-'-,-'--

.fin.

__

I want to continue this in some way. That is, I want to write more Lola. Whether that is a prequel explaining Maurice, or an sequel containing some compromising Draco-Harry situations, I do not know, but I know that I want to write more Lola. So expect that sometime soon.

And to answer your questions truthfully about the naming of Lola, I found the name as I find many of my names, in a commonplace baby name book . . . No songs or films or anything like that. Lola actually means "Sorrows," which is terribly appropriate, I think. _I also like the way it sounds coming off the tip of your tongue. Say it aloud, I dare you: Lola . . . loowlaah . . . _

Finally, thanks to everyone who reviewed. I adore reading reviews, they make me love you guys so much. Em, in my upcoming summer hols I will have more than enough free time on my hands, and I would appreciate some reccomendations, if it wouldn't be too much to ask? Preferably centered around Draco, but I also like a good Lucius or Sirius Black story . . . But, just to mention, unless the plot is really, really intriguing, I can't overlook many misspellings or grammatical errors. *shivers* Gawd, I am_ going to become an English prof one day!_


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